Nora Morgan's Diary
by foreverHenry919
Summary: Set late 2018, more than a year after the mini-series, "The Morgan Chronicles" had aired on the BBC America Channel and more than a year since Henry's distant relatives, Henry and Cynthia Morgan, had gifted him family portraits and Nora's personal diary. Henry had elected not to read it but Jo's curiosity was getting the better of her.
1. Nora Morgan's Diary Ch 1 It's a Boy

**This story is set in late 2018, more than a year after the TV mini-series, "The Morgan Chronicles" had aired on the BBC America Channel. And more than a year since Henry's distant relatives, Henry Morgan and his sister, Cynthia Morgan, had gifted him of family portraits and the personal diary of his first wife, Nora Perth Morgan. Henry had elected not to read Nora's diary, though, telling Jo that its contents no longer mattered to him at this point in his life with her. Jo's curiosity, however, was beginning to get the better of her.**

vvvv

"Found them!" Abe's voice rang out from the other end of the attic. He lifted up a small box of old Christmas cards, set it aside, and triumphantly retrieved a larger cardboard box underneath it filled with Christmas decorations that had been passed down from one generation to the next in Abigail's family. His smile faltered somewhat when he saw what was next to it with a small blanket over it.

"Great, Abraham," Henry happily told him. "Bring them right down so we can start trimming the tree." He turned to leave but stopped when he realized that Abe had not moved from his spot. Concerned, he asked, "Anything wrong, Abraham?"

A still silent Abe slowly walked over and passed the box of decorations to him. "Why'd you hide those things over there?" he asked, flicking his head to the pile of gentle clutter behind him.

"So you found them," Henry's voice was quiet as he gripped the box in front of him. "I told you before, Abraham, I do not need to know the contents of her diary or those letters."

"What if someone else wants to know?" Abe asked as he followed his father down the ladder stairs into the hallway near the guest room. "You're not the only Morgan in this household, you know," he reminded him while uncollapsing the ladder back into the ceiling.

Henry carried the box into the living room and sat it down on the floor in front of the eight-foot Norway spruce tree. He straightened up and stood with his arms crossed, waiting for his son to join him.

"I had begun to think that you'd tossed it out," Abe said. "At least let Jo and me read it. She's a Morgan now, too, and just as curious as I am."

"You mean just as nosy," an unsmiling Henry replied. "And, no, I did not dispose of it - yet."

"Well, I'm glad you didn't," Abe replied. "And Jo will be happy to know where it is, too."

"Abraham, surely, you and my wife can find much more interesting reading material either in our library or on the blasted Internet." Despite the nature of their conversation, Henry had to admit that he loved being able to say those words, my wife, again; and Abe loved hearing them fall so naturally from his father's lips and it caused both men to soften a bit.

"Are you afraid of what you might find out in it, Dad?" Abe asked cautiously.

Henry frowned and blinked several times before replying. "Not necessarily." He inhaled and exhaled deeply and looked his son directly in the eyes. "It's a life I lived a long time ago. It's over and I just don't want any of those old memories resurrected. My life is here. Now. In 2018, with you and Jo. You two have been urging me to live in the present. Well, I finally begin to do that and you want me to do an about face all of a sudden."

"No ... not ... Dad," a frustrated Abe began, "you got through the mini-series okay. But you can just leave the diary to Jo and me."

Henry chuckled, skeptical. "You'll both have questions. Or, the both of you will be just bursting to enlighten me about one entry or another." He smilingly eyed his son, his head tilted to the side and his hands clasped in front of him.

"Sometimes I just hate it when you're right," Abe grumpily admitted.

The shop's bell tinkled and Henry said, "That'll be Jo."

They'd closed the shop an hour early to hunt up the decorations so Jo must have let herself in with her key. He met her halfway on the stairs, kissed her, and took the paper grocery bag from her but she clutched the other shopping bag to her.

"Unh-uh, this one's full of surprises," Jo told him, smiling. "You don't get to see what's in here yet." She greeted Abe and disappeared into Henry's bedroom - their bedroom since their Central Park wedding eight months ago. "Nobody comes in here until I've finished wrapping these gifts," she called out before closing and locking the door.

"Why didn't you just have them wrapped in the store?" Henry asked her through the locked door. Her muffled reply seemed to suggest that store employees don't wrap as well as she does.

A bright smile suddenly broke out on his face at the thought of them welcoming their first child in the next seven months. A first for both of them. She and Sean had wanted children but they had agreed to wait a few years. Unfortunately, he'd died before they ever could. Henry, on the other hand, had not been able to have children with either Nora or Abigail. He'd sadly concluded that his unique condition was the cause. That it may have been preordained, thus, preventing him and Nora from ever having children. And, of course, after his condition had manifested itself, it had prevented Abigail and him from having children, as well. The fact that he and Jo were expecting, thrilled him to the bone to know that he'd been wrong all that time. With his smile still lingering, he then walked back to where Abe was standing near the tree.

"I suppose you're going to tell her that you've found it," Henry said, shoving his hands down into his pockets. "For your information, she has never brought it up to me after I'd told her that I didn't want to know what was in it."

"Well," Abe scoffed, "for _your_ information, I know that she's wondered from time to time where you'd stashed it or if you'd gotten rid of it. She just wants to read it, Pops. What harm could it do?" Abe asked.

Twenty minutes later, the bedroom door opened and Jo came out with an armful of wrapped gifts. She walked over to the tree and looked admiringly up at it. "It's beautiful, guys." She set the gifts down in the armchair on the other side of the tree near the wall. "And what harm could what do?" She cast a knowing look at them as she stepped closer to them. "I'm a detective. Means I have big ears."

Henry reluctantly told her that Abe had found Nora's diary in the back of the attic where he'd hidden it and that Abe wanted to read it. It dismayed him to see her eyes twinkle the same way they always did whenever she felt close to uncovering an important clue. But she surprised them both.

"Oh, really? Well, good that you didn't throw it away, Henry," she told him and walked over to the box of decorations. "Let's get the tree trimmed. Sooner we do that, the sooner we can have dinner." She began picking up ornaments and hanging them on some of the limbs and they followed suit.

After the tree was trimmed, they enjoyed a Mexican feast of roast chicken, black beans, rice, salad, and flan for dessert. Jo had woken up their palates with ethnic delights from her childhood. She took great pleasure in cooking for her two favorite men and as they partook of the delightfully spicy meal, the diary and letters seemed all but forgotten. Henry and Abe volunteered for kitchen cleanup. Jo protested at first but eventually relented, announcing that she was off to an early bedtime. The subject of the diary didn't come up again and father and son soon retired to their respective bedrooms.

Jo was nowhere to be seen when Henry entered the bedroom, though.

"Hurry up, dirty bird," her teasing voice came from the bathroom.

He smiled and quickly undressed, joining her in the bubble bath. "Ahhh," he moaned pleasurably as he slid in behind her and nuzzled the side of her neck. She closed her eyes and moaned in blissful response. "I never knew that bathing could be so utterly delightful," he whispered in her ear, cupping and squeezing her breasts with her hands atop his.

vvvv

In the early morning hours just before rising, they lay comfortably in bed enjoying the warm delight of waking up in each other's arms. Henry still found it hard to believe that she was here with him; that they were actually married. How could he be so lucky as to have his heart stolen again by another exceptional, lovely woman?

"Good morning, sleepyhead," he said, using the deep register of his voice. It resonated through her and caused her to tremble delightfully.

"Same to you!" she replied, smiling with her eyes still closed and emphasizing the last word by reaching back to give him a light slap on the side of his rear.

"Ow!" he yelped playfully. "Have I just been subjected to a bit of your brand of police brutality? Because if I have, then I much prefer the, ah, sweeter pain you dealt me last night."

At that, she snuggled back into him more and replied in a deep, husky voice, "I'll bet I can make you like both."

"I think you already have," he sing-songed back to her.

vvvv

Two hours later, they emerged from their bedroom and laughingly entered the kitchen where they found a breakfast of scrambled eggs, bacon, and fried potatoes warming on the stove. They served themselves and sat down at the table, rounding their meal out with coffee, orange juice, and wheat toast.

While they ate, the conversation the day before about Nora's diary invisibly resurrected itself as almost a tangible object felt between them. Near the end of the meal, Henry sighed and sat back in his chair, eyeing Jo directly across from him. When Abe was there, she sat to Henry's right. When it was just the two of them, she preferred to sit across from him so she could look directly at him.

"Darling, I know you don't need my permission to do so but ... if you and Abe wish to read over that diary and those letters ... I won't object," he quietly told her.

"Really?" she replied, surprised. "You're right, I don't exactly need your permission but you know I'd never do it unless you were okay with it."

"Wouldn't say that I'm okay with it, exactly," he admitted. "But if it will help to clear the air and get Nora and her long-ago doings out of our way, then ... I'm all for it."

Jo fought to contain her excitement because she knew it had been a tough decision for him. But as soon as the kitchen was cleared, she planned to ask Abe to bring the box of material down from the attic.

vvvv

With the kitchen cleared away and the shop closed on a Sunday, Jo and Abe sat in the living area near the tree on the settee next to it. Henry sat on the other side of the fireplace in a straight back chair sipping tea with a "Let's just get this over with" kind of look on his face.

Jo almost reverently picked up the dark brown, 5" x 7" hardback book from the box. The title on the cover indicated that it was custom made.

"Private Journal of Nora Francine Perth Morgan," Jo read out loud. She glanced over at Henry, who offered no reaction other than sipping his tea and staring straight ahead. She and Abe exchanged a look and he tipped his head down at the book for her to continue anyway. She opened it to a title page written in what appeared to be Nora's own handwriting by quill pen and ink. The next two pages caused both Abe and her to gasp when they saw two, handpainted pictures of Nora and Henry, one on each of the two pages. The same two pictures in small, oval frames owned by Henry.

"Wedding pictures?" Jo asked Abe.

He shook his head. "Dad said they sat for those portraits the year he opened his medical practice in London. High society stuff." He kept his voice low, not sure if he wanted his father to hear. They both startled at the sound of his voice.

"Not the most flattering of renderings of me, I grant you, but it wasn't meant to be," Henry told them, still staring straight ahead. "The portrait of me was meant to impart strength and trustworthiness to my potential patients. The portrait of Nora is more reflective of her actual looks but meant to be flattering to me, her husband," he continued.

Jo frowned in confusion. "What do you mean by more flattering to you?"

"It was a male-dominated society," Henry explained. "Flattering to me because I had the sense to choose her as my wife."

"Hmmphf," Jo scoffed. "A trophy wife."

"She was more than that to me at the time, I can assure you," Henry replied, defensively. "But, yes, she was also that," he conceded, picking his teacup up again and added, "It's, uh, complicated."

Jo laughed softly and shook her head, turning the page. "This entry is dated August the 14th, 1814."

 _Mr. Barton came up to tea. He brought a letter from a Mr. Royce Allen with astonishing news about Henry. The weather was quite unpleasant this morning befitting the rather unpleasant news of Henry being swept overboard from the Empress of Africa ship during a violent storm at sea._

 _Tuesday, August the 15, 1814_

 _The diary, as usual, takes up most of my Tuesday mornings, but after receiving the devastating news yesterday about my poor Henry, my pen knows no words to adequately describe the grief in my heart._

Jo stopped reading and bit her lower lip, reluctantly finding herself identifying with and sympathizing with Nora at that point. She knew exactly what it felt like to have received the worst news possible about a beloved husband. She swallowed and cleared her throat and continued reading the rest of the entry.

 _I shall retire early tonight, for I feel quite tired after my second day of widowhood. One could say that I have been a widow since April 7, 1814, when Henry was actually lost at sea but since I was only apprised of his death yesterday I feel no need to press more grief upon my heart. This is already too much for me to bear._

 _Wednesday August the 16, 1814_

 _I have been all the morning ill. In the afternoon, old Mrs. Barton came up with Papa and brought her black girl. Henry would have disapproved. But I have been out walking with old Mrs. Barton. It is a long time since she was here and everything is much altered. She is now sitting talking with Mama about old affairs. In spite of the fresh air from the morning walk, I still feel ill. No one else understands my grief. My loneliness. So I don't speak of it any longer. I received a note from a woman named Harriet Townsend. She claims to have seen my Henry. Of course, I burned the note in the hearth. She must be mad. How could he have survived being swept into the stormy sea? I must be mad for clinging to that hope. Dare I?_

 _Thursday August the 17, 1814_

 _I was very busy all the morning directing the staff with housework. In the afternoon, I felt ill again and took to my bed. Mama sent for old Dr. Barton. Nothing to worry about, he assured us. For I was in a family way. A miracle from the ashes. I was to have Henry's child. The last thing connecting me to him other than by name. Perhaps it is because I am all weeped out over him that I cannot find the tears of joy for our child yet. The evening is remarkable pleasant with a beautiful full moon as if to mock me in this new twist of my grief._

Jo stopped reading and looked at Henry, who most definitely was reacting to that last diary entry. He slowly rose from his chair blinking and frowning, looking here and there but focusing on nothing. Finally, he walked slowly out of the room and disappeared into the kitchen. Jo passed the diary to Abe, who cradled it in his lap in stunned silence. He watched Jo follow his father into the kitchen, wanting to join them, but thinking it was best that he didn't.

In the kitchen, Jo found Henry with bowed head at the kitchen sink, his arms spread out, and with palms turned inward, his hands gripping the edge of the counter. She walked up behind him and placed her hands on his upper back. She then put her arms around him and said, "Wow, Henry; a baby. That's really something."

He spun around with a joyful look of wonder on his face and replied, "Indeed! I thought it was because of me, because of my condition that I'd never fathered a child." His smile faltered ever so slightly as his left cheek flinched upward a few times. "Of course, I don't know that she was able to bear the child but ... " his cheeks jumped upward again. "You and I have nothing to worry about." He looked down between them and back up at her. "Our child ... our children ... will be fine."

They kissed and embraced, then with their arms around each other's waists, walked back into the room with Abe. They retook their seats and Abe resumed the reading.

"That last entry was a little better than the ones before it," Abe said, his eyes fixed on the pages in front of him. "But every entry up til then and several after go kinda dark," he added. "Sounds like she went into a deep depression that lasted several months in spite of the fact that she was expecting. So, I skimmed ahead to December 1814. Listen to this."

 _Monday December the 25, 1814_

 _Eliza Coleman came up this morning and spent Christmas with us. Mama insisted I still wear my widow's black but it has begun to chafe me. Henry isn't coming back. But tradition holds that I wear this black cloth of grief for several more months. Still - it was a joy to see Eliza again. She livened up, or rather her pet spider monkey livened up the household. Chee-Chee, she calls him. An utter delight. He got away from her and had the staff running behind him up and down the stairs. In and out of the house. Frightening Mama and cook, jumping on Papa's back. He rather liked it, though. James and John stopped to breakfast with us this morning and were promptly jumped on, as well. It took me a few moments to realize that the heartiest and loudest laughter was emanating from me. So long since I'd laughed. So long since I'd been cheered. The best present of all this Christmas._

"Sounds like she was able to get out of her funk," Abe said. He lowered the book and looked over at his father. "Dad, uh, is that your first time hearing about ... a baby?"

Henry sighed and quietly replied, "Yes." He sighed again and added, "I suspect that she may have lost the baby but I'm gladdened to know that children were possible for us. Read on," he urged Abe.

 _Tuesday December the 26, 1814_

 _This morning has been taken up preparing for the ball given by the young gentleman at Mount Edwards. Mr. Barton came up this afternoon to join the party._

 _Wednesday December the 27, 1814_

 _They all spent a very pleasant evening with plenty of dancing. Talk was about because I refused to don my black garb, only a black bonnet and scarf. Of course, no one asked me to dance - the curse of being a widow with child - but I still enjoyed being there. They danced till four o'clock this morning. Mama and Mrs. Allen came up to see us in the evening and they both had a lecture for me. No matter. Eliza and me and Mr. Barton have been on our lake sliding all the morning - and in my condition! Eliza and Mr. Barton wanted to walk down to Aunt's but the fun at the lake had worn me out._

"This Barton guy keeps poppin' up," Abe grumbled. "You remember him, Dad?"

"He was a family friend, although I could never really warm up to him. He was also a fellow physician. Ah, Edward. Edward Barton." Henry replied. "He was also the son of the old Dr. Barton and he was once my rival for Nora's hand. A bit too opportunistic for my tastes."

"The son of the old doctor who had signed your commitment papers?" Abe asked.

"And most likely the father of Nora's other son, Albert Morgan," Henry replied, nodding.

"I smell a rat!" Abe exclaimed grumpily.

"Me, too," Jo said. "Um, since she was a widow, should he have even been hanging around her so much so soon after you ... weren't around anymore?" Jo asked. She'd been through that herself after Sean had passed away. Too-soon, would-be courters moving in even while the corpse was still fresh. Her brother, Carlos, had once punched one such too-sooner in the nose and he'd never shown up again.

"A widow could not visit a widower or unmarried man unless one of his female relatives was present," Henry replied. "Likewise, he could not visit her unless one of her male relatives was present. From her entries, it appears that proper protocol was followed during their mutual visits. At least, I assume that either her father and/or her brother, Hunter, were present." Jo shook her head disparagingly and Abe chuckled.

"It's the way things were back then," Henry explained, shrugging. "The veiled widow could elicit sympathy but also predatory male advances."

"In other words, she had to be protected," a disgusted Jo said in an annoyingly nasal voice. "Aagghh!"

"Those little black veils are kind of ... sexy," a smiling Abe said. He caught himself too late and flustered for an explanation when Jo and his father rolled their eyes. "What I meant was - "

" - I know what you meant," Jo said, bobbing her head up and down as she smirked at him. "I know all about you enlisting Henry to be your wingman when you went to the burial of Fawn's husband. May God forgive you two."

Henry and Abe cleared their throats and spoke over each other with intent to continue reading from the diary.

"Uh, yeah, uh, here," Abe said, earnestly studying the current page. He frowned as he flipped back and forth. "Aw, man, the next few pages are stuck together. Jumps from that December 1814 entry to February 1815. Can't read what happened to the baby. She was making entries practically every day so that means that the entire month of January 1815 is probably in these pages that are stuck together," he said with dismay.

Jo took the book and examined it while Henry walked over and sat next to her. "You're right," Jo said. "The baby was probably born that month." All three of them let out a sigh of frustration.

"You know, it is possible that these pages can be separated by the same process employed to separate ancient parchments," Henry said as he took the book from her and studied it himself, his brow furrowed. An intriguing mystery, he told himself. His son or daughter born only three months before he'd returned home and no one had uttered a word to him about it!

"Ooo, here's something!" Abe breathlessly announced.

 _Friday February the 25 1815_

 _I have returned from town today with Mr. Barton. I have been spending a week with his mother and sisters. It would have been a pleasanter week had not the child been on my mind. It was as if the weather was so unpleasant as to be a coincidental match for my lack of mirth and good humour although they did their best to lift my spirits. Since I have come home, Mama and Papa have pressured me to have a headstone erected next to Henry's for the child but I refuse for I fear to always view both of them will send me further down the gullet of grief. To know that he is buried in his father's empty grave is enough for me. Baby Henry. Old Dr. Barton is right; I should bury my grief for him there, as well. Never to speak of him again lest I die from this pain of loss._

"A boy!" they all exclaimed in unison.

While Jo and Abe exchanged excited thoughts about how close they had been during their visit last year to Trillingham Manor, something didn't sit quite right for Henry.

"How I wish that she had told me about our son when I'd returned home," he lamented. "Nora and I kept no secrets from each other."

"Yeah, but telling her about your secret of Immortality didn't go well for you," Abe pointed out grudgingly.

"That 'old Dr. Barton' advising her to bury the baby in your empty grave and place no headstone sounds ... " Jo paused then said, " ... shady. Crazy and shady." As a cop, she'd come across a lot of weird cases with people committing crimes for a lot of weird reasons. But to convince a bereaved widow and mother to bury her dead baby in her husband's empty grave?

"She must have been so grief-stricken that she chose to go along with him but ... why?" Henry wondered.

"We could try to find out," Abe said.

"You mean go back to England?" Jo asked, hopefully, excitedly.

"Well, maybe," he replied. "But first we've gotta get these pages separated so we can find out what's written on them."

"You're right, Abraham," Henry said. "I would most definitely like to know what happened to our son."

Notes:

Diary entries inspired by "The 1815 Diary of a Nova Scotia Farm Girl, Louisa Collins, of Colin Grove, Dartmouth" As Edited By Dale McClare .

Slight reference to "Forever" TV show S01/E08 "The Ecstacy of Agony"

Diary entry about the spider monkey loosely inspired by a similar scene in the 1937 Shirley Temple movie, "Heidi"

Information on widows in the Victorian era found on these and other Internet sites:

Widows in 18th century England

/~ece/student_projects/make_your_

Women in the Victorian era

wiki/Women_in_the_Victorian_era

2011/09/14/dowagers-and-widows-in-19th-c-england/

19th Century Widower etiquette, Victorian era, Antebellum

2012/01/18/19th-century-widower-etiquette-victorian-era-antebellum/


	2. Nora Morgan's Diary Ch 2 Shady Dr Barton

The slight disappointment of finding some of the diary's pages stuck together, therefore, barring them from reading at least a month's worth of entries, lasted only a short time.

"I found that YouTube video," Abe happily announced.

As Henry and Jo drew closer to him, a female voice from the video playing on his laptop became clearer.

"What YouTube video?" Jo asked.

"On how to separate these pages that are stuck together," he replied. Most of his concentration was focused on the video screen. "I've done this before. Just needed to refresh my memory." He followed along with the onscreen demonstrator, the diary on the kitchen table in front of him.

 _" ... a very thin sheet of a hard material must be used. Using this sheet, force has to be applied gradually, starting from the inside of the pages and progressing outwards. Get a thin, hard sheet such as a file cover, plastic folder, thin spatula or steel foot ruler."_

He held up a steel ruler to them, grinning. Then quickly returned his attention to the step-by-step instructing video.

 _"Choose a starting point and apply gentle force to effectively unstick two stuck pages, choose the starting point that has the most surface area in contact with the thin sheet that you're using."_

"Aw, she's cute but she's just - talking too much now." Abe waved his hand in frustration at the video screen, collapsed it, and paused it. While he worked the ruler gently in between the pages, he also waved off any help or advice from his father or stepmother. "I got this, I got this. Be done in a minute, here."

"Careful, Abraham," Henry warned him anyway. "Gauge your progress, and add steam if required. If the pages are stuck very firmly together they have a high likelihood of tearing if you apply more force than needed."

"I know, Dad," Abe replied, squinting at the tedious progress of his delicate task.

"Steam the pages by placing the book above a pan of hot, boiling water," Henry continued.

Abe sighed and sat back in his chair. "Looks like I'll have to do that."

"Steam the pages?" Jo asked. "Won't that just make them soggy and then you'll never be able to pull them apart."

"Not if just enough is applied to soften the pages and allow them to separate with less force." He walked over to prepare the teapot still on the stove and turned on the eye underneath it. With a wink and a smile, he said, "Scoot. You guys got about 20 minutes to catch up on your smooching."

Jo's jaw dropped but she fought to control an embarrassed but amused smile. Henry slowly stood up and came face to face with his son. Try as he might, though, he struggled against his own smile.

"Why on earth do I continue to put up with your impertinence, Abraham?" Henry asked in his best fatherly tone of disappointment.

Abe looked smugly at him and replied, "Because I'm too big for you to punish me and because you love me."

Henry walked away, shaking his head and muttering something about his son being impossible. But he had to admit that it was true. Not that he and Abigail had spanked him often but a time out would definitely do him some good right now, he thought.

"C'mon," Jo told him, pulling him back into the living room by the hand. "I've got some questions, anyway."

"Alright," he said, sitting down next to her on the settee. "Questions about what?"

"Boy or girl, what are we going to name _our_ baby?"

"Oh, well, ah ... I'm still going over the baby names in that little book and ... actually, whatever you decide is fine with me."

"No, no. You're not getting off that easily," she told him. "We decide to - geth - er."

"Alright, alright, let me see, let me see," he replied. He paused and closed his eyes, then opened them. "I rather like ... Brianna if it's a girl."

"Brianna," Jo repeated thoughtfully. "Hmmm. Yeah, I like that, too." She shifted in her seat and brought one leg under her. "Now. If it's a boy ... Henry?"

"No," he quickly replied. "No. Let him have his own name. Be his own person."

"Okay, um ... how about ... Ricardo? Or ... Lorenzo?" she asked.

"Lorenzo," Henry repeated. He sat silently considering it as his smile tugged upward more and more. "Yes. If it's a boy, Lorenzo."

"Worked like a charm," Abe happily called out to them from the kitchen. "The pages have to dry, though." They then heard the sound of a hairdryer.

Baby names decided upon, they gave their attention back to the diary and the strange entry regarding old Dr. Barton having persuaded Nora to bury Baby Henry in his father's empty grave with no accompanying grave marker.

"Henry, what could have been going on?" Jo wondered. "Sounds strange to me."

He frowned, pursing his lips as he mulled over some possibilities, then let out a sigh. "All I can really recall about the Barton family was that there were rumors about them not being as financially well off as they pretended to be. Something to do with failed investments and Edward's gambling habits. He loved the horses and Derby Day. But, mind you, Nora's mental health also may not have been the most sound."

"Meaning she could have just imagined something like that?" Jo speculated.

"Meaning _she_ should have been committed," Abe said.

Jo laughed softly and asked, "Wouldn't there have been an old birth record or something to at least confirm that she gave birth?"

"A church record if the child had lived long enough to have been christened," he replied. "A burial record but only if it had been done properly."

"How about a birth announcement - oh," Jo began, then checked herself. "Old Dr. Barton probably would have advised against that, too."

"Baby announcement cards didn't start becoming popular until sometime in the 1870's," Henry pointed out. "However, news of a birth would still have spread throughout the community." What had old Dr. Barton been up to? Henry asked himself. _'Get rid of the baby when it was believed that I, the father, was already dead. Then get rid of me after I'd most unexpectedly returned.'_

Unable to curb their highly-piqued curiosity, they eyed the box of documents and Jo finally rose from her seat and walked over to it. She rummaged through it and Henry waited anxiously for her to produce whatever it was she was looking for. She returned to her seat next to him, in her hands a bundle of envelopes tied up with a leather strap.

"Okay, let's start in on the letters," she said. "Maybe something will turn up in them." She untied the strap and handed the top two to Henry. After placing the bundle on the settee to the left of her, she took one of the envelopes from him and they each carefully opened one.

"This one's from ... " Jo paused, frowning at the faded but fanciful handscript similar to Henry's. "Can't make it out," she said, shaking her head and passing it to him.

"Hmmm. Not a letter but a bill dated September 4, 1861 from ... Huw MacGregor." Henry read over the bill and chuckled softly, handing it back to Jo. "He worked for the Pinkerton Detective Agency in the 1850's. It's a bill for having hunted me down and located me in Nice, Brussels, and Antwerp." He smiled sadly and shook his head.

"You traveled to all those places during that time?" Jo asked. She could only imagine him abandoning one locale for another in order to avoid being locked up or harmed.

"Yes, to those places and more, many times," he replied. "But not during that time period. In the early 1850's, I died in an avalanche while searching for gold in Alaska when it was still a Russian territory. In 1849 a Russian mining engineer named P. P. Doroshin had discovered gold in the gravels of the Kenai River on the Kenai Peninsula," he explained further. "Thank God I was alone when I met that end. The waters were deathly cold but I was able to ... recover in private; dry off and warm up."

"Gold, hmmm?" Jo mused. "Were you lucky?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, very lucky," he replied, smiling. "But ... " his voice trailed off and he seemed reluctant to continue. He heaved a big sigh at Jo's look of curiosity and continued. "In 1855 I died in a powder keg explosion aboard a schooner on Hudson Bay." He paused again, frowning and pursing his lips.

"Th-that sounds awful, Henry," Jo told him, genuinely sorry to hear about two of the deaths he'd experienced.

"Yeah, and what makes it more awful," Abe called out to her from the kitchen again, "is that the gold was part of the ship's cargo. Easy come, easy go."

"Uh ... no ... oh, no," an appalled Jo said, looking from the direction of Abe's voice and back at Henry. "I mean I'm sorry you died but the gold - bummer."

Henry had closed his eyes and bowed his head, cringing from Abe's words. He opened his eyes and turned to look at Jo and said, "At least I know where it is in case there's ever a need to retrieve it."

Jo fought to hide her look of amusement, patting him on the arm. "First you die getting the gold then you die and lose it! Oh, poor booby," she said, patting his cheek and kissing the other.

"Sorry, Pops," a grinning Abe said as he joined them in the room again, diary in hand. "Couldn't resist providing that little, uh, tidbit of information for Jo." Henry shook his head and muttered a weary thank you to him.

"But the good thing is - the pages are separated and, hopefully, we can find out what happened to my big brother." Noticing the pensive look on his father's face, Abe asked, "You okay with continuing with the diary, Pops?"

"Yes, yes, Abraham, by all means, do continue," he told him. "It's just that ... it appears that old Dr. Barton may not have been the only one to have taken advantage of her in her fragile mental state. This MacGregor fellow billing her for falsified services."

Henry couldn't help but feel pity for his long deceased wife. If only she had believed him, he thought to himself. He would have protected her, spared her from the avarice of others.

Abe sat in the chair previously occupied by Henry and gently handled the delicate, recently-separated pages as he read.

 _February the 28th, 1815_

 _I sent the cook's boy, Micah, out to pick currants. As it was quite late last night when I came home, I had not time to write down yesterday's events. I was being kept abreast of the wine making near all day - and butter. In the afternoon, I went to Mrs. Allen's to tea. I met Mrs. Brinley coming over to see me, but she insisted on my going with her. In the evening we went over to Mrs. Potts's and had a _ romp . Sally was dressed as a little Dutchman and introduced as Mrs. P's beau._

 _My days are filled with busy but it helps to keep my mind off of the child. Alone out there. Unnamed to the world, only in my heart. Have I done the right thing? What real shame is there to bear a child of your husband's after his death? And Mama and Papa and Hunter know not of old Dr. Barton's powders he's prescribed to help me attain mindful peace. If only this grief could truly be lifted from me, thought may become clearer for me._

"Powders? Mindful peace?" Abe repeated loudly, frowning. "That old quack kept her drugged!"

"Right under her parents' and brother's noses," Jo added. "Did they live with her? I thought you and she had your own place to live."

"We did," Henry replied. "It's not clear in her diary but they either lived with her during her troubled times or visited regularly."

"Maybe not regularly enough if they didn't notice that she was on a high every time they saw her," Abe grumbled. Ever since he'd learned of Nora's betrayal of his father, he'd held a grudge against her. But after what he'd just read, he found himself wishing there had been a way to help her back then. Wishing that someone had stepped in to keep that old quack away from her. And his father and his centuries old big brother.

"My recollection of her parents were that by this time, her father was falling deeper into senility, quick to share with a willing or unwilling ear of his past experiences as a captain in the British Navy." Henry shook his head. "He would not have noticed anything suspicious."

"A mother knows her child, though," Jo asserted. "Why didn't Mrs. Perth try to do something to protect her daughter and grandchild?" Jo was nearly indignant at the thought of the two women allowing themselves to be cowed by the shady old Dr. Barton.

"Her mother was a trusting soul," Henry said. "Too trusting, at times. And, perhaps, too preoccupied with her husband's failing health and deteriorating mental capacity."

"Deteriorating mental - " Abe began. "That old quack probably had all of them drugged," he laughed. "He was a pusher!"

"Well, I can say with all certainty that he never gave me anything," Henry said. Except one of the worst experiences of my life, he acknowledged, regarding his committal to the asylum.

Jo held onto one of letters in her lap. "Hmmm. You're probably right, Abe. This is also a bill from that so-called doctor. He billed her for several visits to you, Henry, while you were in the asylum and later on in the prison. Did he ever really visit you?"

"Sometimes," Henry replied. The memory of that time held his gaze, she could tell. "He'd stand and watch while they administered what Dr. Stewart called ... treatments ... to me." The memory darkened his eyes and deepened his voice.

"He never said a word. Never lifted a finger to help me. Just ... stood there and watched." He blinked and lowered his eyes. "After a while, I began to think that he was merely a figment of my imagination."

"Bastard!" Jo whispered hoarsely. "When we go back to England, is there some way we can find out where these fools are buried so we can spit on their graves?" The two men laughed at how preposterous that sounded but she lifted her voice over theirs, protesting that she was serious.

Henry quieted his laughter and looked at her, holding her hand. "Darling, time took its toll on Nora. I'm very sure that the, ah, fools on whose graves you wish to spit, paid for their misdeeds, as well."

"I don't care," Jo insisted. "They deserve it." She frowned then asked, "Probably laws in England against doing that, though, right?" She frowned more and made a growling sound through clenched teeth.

"Can you read the pages now?" Henry asked Abe while he squeezed Jo's hand to comfort her. Abe nodded and proceeded to do so.

 _March the 1st 1815_

 _This has been another very rainy day, and I have been doing needlepoint most of the day till about five o'clock when it left off raining. Matilda has been altering a frock and working some trimming for me, for soon I shall doff my widow's black. If Mama has something to say against it, I refuse to hear it._

 _The child has begun to invade my dreams. Old Dr. Barton says I must think of future things and that his son, Edward, would be a prime catch. But my heart still belongs to Henry. Edward has been rather overly considerate but how can I let another in when my heart holds fast to the memory of my beloved Henry?_

 _And there's something else. Mama has always said that she could feel when her children were in trouble. She insists that I am now. That perhaps old Dr. Barton is just that - too old now. That I should seek the services of a younger doctor, more capable, with more modern training, she says. Hounds me! I trust the old doctor but he is moving slower these days. Mama might be correct in her assumptions. And, God help me, I feel my child! How is that possible if he is dead and buried? Clear thought remains elusive much of the time. Heavens!_

 _It has rained very hard today. I am too spent to shed any tears so I'll borrow from the rain. I sincerely hope tomorrow may be fine. It is so cold this evening that I have been sitting by the fire. Winter is holding fast. Warm weather would be a blessing._

"That's the first entry for March," Abe told them. "Sounds like her mother was trying to convince her to dump the old quack while his shady son was puttin' the moves on her. But here's the first entry for January."

 _January 3rd 1815_

 _Old Dr. Barton broke the news to me. Our baby, a son, did not survive his birth of 8 days ago, 8 days that I have been out of sorts! I simply can't believe it. His cries still ring in my ears, he was so much alive and I was so much ready to cradle him, love him, protect him as a mother should. I was so ready! The doctor says that I was not of a mental state to care for him even if he had survived. Hopeless is what I feel. He would have been a living part of my Henry. A living part to keep loving but now he is gone, as well. To compound my grief, my child, our child was buried in his father's empty grave. But without a marker of his own or anything added to Henry's to let the world know that he existed for a few precious hours._

 _Move on, the old doctor says. Move on from the Morgan family. All ties cut, he says, for the best. I should look forward to a new life, a new beginning, a new future - with Edward? That it's unhealthy to hold onto the past with so many painful memories._

"Brainwashing her!" Abe shouted. "No wonder she was so bejeebered up by the time you returned!"

Henry cringed a bit and said, "She definitely appears to have been a woman well put upon."

"Part of the grieving process is receiving condolences from others. It helps a person deal with loss when others show sympathy. Since that old doctor had talked her into keeping secrets regarding the baby, she had a harder time dealing with things," Jo opined.

"What are the other entries for January 1815?" Henry asked.

"Not much, actually," Abe replied. "She added dates but ... maybe didn't have the heart to write anything," he somberly speculated. "Oh ... here's something on the 22nd of January."

 _Papa stays home more now, no longer able to receive visitors. Mama visits less and less but on her last visit brought news from the colonies of slaves escaping from the Empress. One of the last of the ships that had belonged to the Morgan Shipping Lines._

"News didn't travel nearly as quickly as it does nowadays," Henry explained when Jo and Abe looked questioningly at him.

Abe nodded and continued reading the rest of the entry.

 _I stopped at my little bower this afternoon, but it looked so dull I could not stay long. The weather was also dull and hurried me from the spot where I have spent many happy moments walking with Henry. I have not seen anyone since I came home, and time passes heavily on. Night has thrown on her sable mantle. I now prepare for bed._

"Oh, she's going dark again," Abe warned them.

"Can you blame her?" Jo asked, surprising herself at how much sympathy she felt for Nora.

"Maybe we should pick this up later," Abe proposed, closing it. "I've gotta start getting ready to go over to Fawn's to meet her youngest daughter and her husband and kids."

"Perhaps you're right, Abraham," Henry said. "Let's all find something a little more uplifting to do."

Abe retreated to his bedroom to shower and change. Jo and Henry did likewise in their bedroom as they planned later to take in a play with Jo's older brother and his wife.

Two hours later, Abe had left the shop, headed for Fawn's. Henry had lost the battle of jockeying for space in front of the bathroom mirror to Jo, settling for his reflection in the full-length mirror on the back of the bedroom door. They traded good-natured taunts while putting the finishing touches on their appearances.

"You beat me this time," Jo called from the bathroom.

"Well, I have an unfair advantage. You're preening for two now," he joked. The lure of the diary drew him out of the bedroom and over to where Abe had left it on top of the bundled letters in the box in the chair. He laughed loudly enough for her to hear when she told him "Very funny, Mister".

Jo, finally ready to depart, came out of the bedroom looking for him and paused when she saw him holding the diary and staring at it. She walked over to him and placed her hand on his arm.

He rubbed one hand on top of the diary and looked at her. "The answers to the fate of my son are on these pages," he told her.

"It does look like we have another mystery to solve," she said. "I'm up for it if you are."

"Oh, absolutely," he happily responded.

vvvv

The play they were attending was a middle-school production of the Broadway hit, "Annie", in which Jo's young niece, Jasmine, was playing the lead. It was (thankfully) enjoyable because the cast members were blessed with great singing voices. The fact that one of the biggest production numbers took place in an orphanage triggered a memory of Henry's from the early years of his marriage to Nora.

 _1809_

 _"Many young couples in our situation choose to adopt," Nora had told him._

 _"You mean choose to give up," Henry had stated, contentiously._

 _"Not give up. Henry!" Nora had replied. "Dr. Barton says he can help us."_

 _Henry had scoffed. "Old Dr. Barton? Help us to do what?" he'd demanded._

 _"Why, adopt," she'd answered as if it were the obvious and only answer. "He and his son, Edward, have been involved for years with caring for indigent children and helping them find proper homes with proper families."_

He recalled that orphans were normally adopted by their immediate relatives, neighbors or childless couples. He and Nora had been such a couple but he'd refused to give up on having a child of their own, as she apparently had. Laws related to adoption did not prevail in England until the 1920s. Prior to that, most of the instances of adoption were informal. Adoption of a child of the lower class by people of higher class, however, did not permit the child to maintain relations with the higher class. That had always troubled Henry, as well. What was the point of taking a child into your home, he'd thought at the time, only to cage them with unfair and outdated rules of class?

Some of the orphans considered themselves lucky to get placed in educational institutions. The philanthropists of the Victorian era had considered it a social responsibility to donate money to schools which were formed to educate the orphans and provide boarding facilities. Food, clothing, shelter and education were given to orphans until they turned seventeen after which they were expected to work and earn on their own.

 _'Boarding facilities,'_ he thought to himself. _'Philanthropists donating money.'_

There had been talk swilling around the Barton family for years about the dismal state of their financial affairs but ... something else. Something ... something to do with some of the children in their so-called boarding facility. How some of the children conveniently resembled the "proper families" with which they had been placed. Was it merely coincidence? Several of the families had also lost a child in childbirth or infancy. At least, that's what old Dr. Barton had told them. And had apparently told Nora about their own son.

The play was just ending and he realized that he'd missed a great portion of it by having entertained his own private musings. But he would still be able to discuss and critique the play since he was very familiar with it in all of its forms.

The diary's pages were calling to him, though. A leisurely read would have to be abandoned in place of a speedier skim through it. Because what if the children had simply been stolen and spirited off to Barton's boarding facility with the intent of making money off of them by using them to obtain donations, monetary and otherwise, from sympathetic philanthropists? And sometimes selling some of them back to heartbroken families? If he was correct in his assumptions, old Dr. Barton's ugly secrets would be uncovered.

vvvv

Notes:

Slight reference to "Forever" TV show S01/E18 episode Dead Men Tell Long Tales"

Information on the middle passage, Victorian-era birth announcements, adoptions, workhouses, and Pinkerton Detective Agency found on the Internet


	3. Nora Morgan's Diary Henry Halvern?

_"The answers to the fate of my son are on these pages," Henry told Jo._

 _"It does look like we have another mystery to solve," she said. "I'm up for it if you are."_

 _"Oh, absolutely," he happily responded._

vvvv

The living area above Abe's Antiques the next morning ...

They weren't quite sure where to start but Henry preferred the tried and true method of researching: visiting the library. Jo and Abe believed that the more modern approach of searching the Internet was the best way to start. It dismayed Henry greatly how overlooked libraries had become in this tech-savvy world.

"One simply produces a library card to gain access to a storehouse of knowledge in books," he explained to his wife and son. "Will the two of you abandon me to make this foray alone?"

Jo grimaced a bit and replied, "Sorry, honey."

Abe, instead of replying, grabbed his father's scarf and top coat from the coatrack and handed them to him. "Look, Dad, you go do your thing and we'll do ours here."

Henry chuckled and shook his head before pecking Jo on the lips and bidding them both goodbye. "See you both in a couple of hours," he told them and left the shop and hailed a cab.

When he arrived at the New York Public Libary on 5th Avenue, he paused and smiled, recalling when in 1908, the main building during late-stage construction had not yet had the lion statues installed at the entrance. Once inside, he did exactly as he'd explained earlier to Jo and Abe: produced his library card and eagerly began taking advantage of the wealth of knowledge stored in the library's vast collection of books.

As he walked away from the checkout desk and further into the building, he recalled the times he'd accompanied Abe there when he was in grade school. It seemed so long ago and yet like only yesterday at the same time. He felt quite at home as he walked slowly between the narrow aisles, stopping occasionally to study the title on the spine of a book, eventually finding one written by Gudrun Jane Limbrick that might contain some of the information he sought. He plucked it from the shelf and opened it to the Chapter of Contents. The title of one of the chapters pulled his lips into a smile of satisfied discovery and he clamped the book shut. This was going to be easier than he thought!

Back at the shop ...

Abe's face lit up again over his own discoveries. "Wow," he murmured before preparing another document for printing. "Maybe we won't have to make another trip to England to do research." Although he, like Jo, wished very much to visit the cottage in Hertfordshire and Henry's plot in the Morgan family graveyard. He gathered the copies and turned the printer off then walked back over to the sofa and sat down.

"You've been awfully quiet," he told Jo and then frowned when he really noticed what she was doing. "Hey, no fair. You're supposed to be helping me do research on orphanages and that Barton quack; not reading the diary all by yourself."

"Reading. Research," she replied distractedly while she read. "Same thing." She grinned and quickly left her seat and sat down beside Abe. "Here, listen to this. This is after Henry had escaped in 1816 from the prison. Yeah, I skipped ahead. But listen."

 _July 13th, 1817_

"Skipped _way_ ahead," Abe playfully accused.

Jo grinned but continued.

 _Rev. Reed has come this day to counsel me to accept Edward Barton's proposal of marriage. Thankfully, he mentioned nothing of my moment of weakness more than three months past when the weight of loneliness and grief had caused me to fall into Edward's too willing arms. I could not speak of it with him or anyone else. Not even my own mother. Such shame I feel and pray for God to forgive my sin against my beloved Henry. But I fear now that a life grows inside of me. And for my sake and the child's, it is best that everyone believe that Henry is the father._

"Whoa. Fast Eddie Barton finally wangled his way in with her, didn't he?" Abe chortled.

"This confirms what we had suspected," Jo replied. "Listen to what else I found," she added, turning the page.

 _July 25th, 1817_

 _Friendship - or what used to be friendship - with the Barton family is now uneasy. Even with old Mrs. Barton. Lately, I have chosen not to receive them at my home. A scandalous situation now swirls around them more than before when rumors of their money problems plagued them. A civilized workhouse run by old Dr. Barton and his son - I shall never again utter his name - has been uncovered as a waystation for stolen babies and children, the accusation first coming from a charwoman who left employment from there several weeks ago. Harsh and horrid accusations have left her lips and we reel from them as if they were swooping bats all about us. Who holds the truth in this confounded matter? Is it any wonder that my heart continues to love the son that I bore for my beloved Henry as if ... as if he still lives?_

Abe whistled low and he and Jo sat in uneasy silence as they mulled over that last entry.

"Sounds like she finally came to see the Barton men for the scheming vultures they really were," Jo finally said.

"Good for her!" Abe exclaimed.

"God, I hope her instincts were right and ... " she looked at Abe, a bit of wonder in her expression. "Hope that Baby Henry actually survived ... ?"

"Wouldn't that be something?" Abe said. "What a great Christmas present for Pops."

They exchanged a hopeful smile and Jo looked at the documents in Abe's hand. "What did you find?"

"Copy of a thesis posted online by someone named Polly Angstrom," he replied. "It includes excerpts of the testimony of a woman who worked at the Barton workhouse or boarding house, whatever."

"A charwoman?" Jo asked.

Abe took a moment to skim over the document and replied, "Yeah." He looked at Jo and added, "Maybe the same woman that Nora wrote about. Anyway, she testified against a Dr. Barton and his son, who had a home they ran for indigent children that was shut down by the authorities."

"You know, this journal stuff is pretty cool. We should start one, too. A hundred years from now someone will discover my brilliant writing," Abe smilingly told Jo.

"Um, brilliant, yeah," Jo agreed with a grin. "Seriously, though, that sounds like a great idea but ... " She chose not to say anything beyond that for they both knew that if a written, daily account of either of their lives was ever found that included Henry, it could spell big trouble for him. Especially if they were no longer with him.

The bell over the shop's door tinkled, announcing Henry's return. He called out a greeting to them, which they both returned. They smiled at each other, realizing from the upbeat sound of his voice that he must have had a productive outing. Jo walked over to meet him at the top of the stairs and they shared a quick "hello" kiss. He hung his top coat and scarf on the coatrack then followed Jo back to where Abe was sitting and she sat down. He remained standing, though, with the smile of a Cheshire cat on his lips.

"C'mon," Jo urged him. "Tell us what you found."

"This," he proclaimed. Like a victor claiming spoils, he held up copies he'd made of Chapter 8 from the book he'd found at the library. "The book is entitled, 'Leaving the Workhouse: The Story of Victorian Era Orphanages'," he told them. Sitting down in between them, he enthusiastically continued.

"This chapter is devoted to, apparently, the infamous Barton family and the so-called boarding schools they ran and ... some of the children are named. Including a baby boy born late December 1814 or early January 1815. His exact birthdate wasn't specified but ... his physical description ... " He paused, surprised at the swell of emotion building inside him.

"What is it, Pops?" Abe asked, frowning slightly.

"A boy, whose physical description by the age of five sounded so much like me at that age ... placed, for a fee, in a family with the surname Halvern in Bromsgrove. That's in Worcestershire County," he explained. "A neighboring county to Hertfordshire." His glistening eyes traveled back and forth. "He was that close. That close," he whispered.

For the next few hours, they shared their individual findings, reaching the conclusion that his and Nora's son had been spirited away almost immediately after birth while she was in a drug-induced stupor. How old Dr. Barton had managed to do so and not arouse anyone's suspicions was most likely the same as in a detailed account found in the testimony of the dismissed charwoman, Marie Bauer, about another stolen child.

 _"I've worked in orphanages before. There weren't near enough staff to look after the children. Always too many of 'em and all claimin' t'be hungry allll the time. Workin' for the Bartons was better ... at first. Not so many little ones. And they cleared out pretty quick, quicker than if they'd been in a regular orphanage, mind you._

 _One day, though, I hear-ed the old doctor yellin' at his son, Eddie. Sumpin 'bout not gettin' paid enough by a family in Bromsgrove for one of the baby boys they'd brought over. Cute little thing. Handsome, he was. Perfect head to toe. Hardly ever cried and then - he was gone. Taken to live in Bromsgrove, me thinks. His name's away from me tongue now but the old doctor yelled the mother's name: Nora. Said he had to keep her sleepin' so's not to let her know her babe was still alive. Imagine that! Stealin' babes from a mother's arms and sellin' 'em to the highest bidder. Like slavery, twas._

 _Me, I let out a squeak of a scream when it become clear to me what the dirty dogs was doin'. Doin' with all the little ones! I wanted no part of it but they fired me. Threatened to tell everyone I'd been stealin' money and food from 'em if I didn't keep me mouth shut! Dirty dogs, they are."_

"She didn't name the baby boy but the mother's name was Nora, she said." Abe looked up from the document and added, "Has to be them."

Henry sighed, pushing his index fingers down into the small inserts on his waistcoat and walked over to the box and looked down at the bundle of letters. "But how to prove it," he stated more than asked. "How to prove it."

"Let's, um, see what's in those copies you brought home," Jo suggested. She exchanged a worried look with Abe when Henry failed to respond. It broke her heart to see him dealing with the new knowledge of a son he had never been allowed to even know about. And now to know that the Barton family had been responsible for such an egregious wrong against Nora and him two centuries ago by having stolen their child and sold him to a wealthy family. She could almost hear his thoughts. Had the boy had a good life? Had the Halvern's been good parents? How could his or Nora's families have even allowed such a terrible thing to occur?

He turned slowly around to face them, a look of pained confusion on his face. "Doesn't make any sense," he whispered out loud. "Our The Perth and Morgan families were both very wealthy," he said. "Why steal our son and sell him to another wealthy family?" He walked back over to stand near Jo and Abe again.

"According to what I read in that chapter from the book, some of the children were taken away, the parents believing them died at birth or shortly after. Then, after a period of grieving - "

"You mean softening them up," Abe interjected.

"One way to put it, yes," Henry replied. "Some of these families had their own children sold back to them under the guise of an adoption," he continued.

Jo shook her head, as confused and disgusted as Henry and Abe were. Abe had been dividing his attention between his worried parents and the copies from Chapter 8 of the library book.

"Why steal him from a rich family only to sell him to another?" Jo asked.

"Maybe the Halvern family was Martha Stewart rich while you guys were only MC Hammer rich?" Abe proposed.

Jo burst out laughing and attempted to explain the reference to Henry. He patted one hand at her and told her that he understood it because Lucas had explained it to him a couple of years ago.

"I can assure you, Abe," Henry replied, "that our families were of the Martha Stewart variety of financial soundness." He opened his mouth slightly, his left cheek tugged up into a lopsided grin, and ran his tongue across his lower lip. "Stay here," he told them, shaking a finger up in the air and quickly walking away.

"Where are you going?" Abe asked.

"Be back in a moment," he replied.

Five minutes later, he returned with the large corkboard from his basement lair and positioned it on its wheels in the middle of the room, facing the settee. He placed a box of differently colored push pins on the lamp table and began pinning Abe's and his documents onto the board. Finally understanding his purpose, Jo and Abe pitched in to help. Once they got all the documents situated, they stood back and admired their handiwork for all of two seconds.

"Okay," Abe said, breaking the silence and moving closer to inspect their compiled clues pinned to the board. "What we got here?"

"Welcome to our world," Jo told Abe.

"Huh?"

"A world in which there is always another mystery to solve," Henry clarified.

After a little more than two hours of studying all of the information, including more of the letters and diary entries, a hypothesis began to form in each of their minds.

"Henry ... the good news is that it appears that Baby Henry did not die after Noa had given birth to him," Jo told him. "But ... " she paused, sighing. "Something must have prevented them from selling him back to her."

"Yes, it would seem so," Henry agreed. "The problem the old doctor had most likely encountered, was that Nora could not have adopted a child on her own. At that time, a single woman, even a widow, could not adopt on her own."

"They had to maintain their cash flow but didn't think it through when they sold - placed - my brother with the Halvern family for a fee," Abe emphasized, altering his statement in a vain effort to soften the wording. But the fact that he'd uttered the words "my brother" for the first time in his life, pleasantly awed him. He cleared his throat and excused himself, saying that he was going to place a phone order for Thai food to be delivered.

Henry studied his son as he retreated to the kitchen to consult his stash of restaurant menus before phoning in the order. He knew that Abe was really taking refuge there, either unwilling to show the emotions building up inside of him over the unfolding fate of his long-ago older brother or needing to deal with them in private. The Immortal man couldn't help but wonder how different his life with Nora might have been if he had returned to her in 1815 and welcomed him with their son. A familiar feeling overtook him and he turned to Jo, who'd been standing and fondly gazing at the two of them. Smiling, he placed his hand on her stomach, his eyes moving between her smiling face and his hand.

"It's too bad, Henry, that you and she couldn't have enjoyed that time together with your son as he grew inside of her," Jo told him. "I know you would have been a good father."

"Thank you, Jo," he quietly responded, kissing her on the forehead. "Wasn't meant to be, I suppose." He looked down at his hand on her stomach and added, "I'm here now, though."

"Okay!" Abe said, loudly announcing his return to the room. "Food should arrive from Thai Palace in about 45 minutes." He drew closer to them and placed his hands on his hips. "And I think I might know why those bastards stole my brother from Nora." Henry and Jo gave him their full attention and he continued.

"She was supposed to have kept him." He pointed to his father and said, "You weren't in the picture anymore, lost at sea and all so Nora was a widow. Old Doc Barton intended to convince her to marry his son, Fast Eddie, so they could raise the child together. Wouldn't hurt that they'd have access to all her money and property, too. But Fast Eddie, probably drowning in gambling debts, had other plans. Snatch the baby and get some other rich family to pay him an adoption fee." He had been pacing back and forth in front of them as he'd shared his theory and now he stopped to look at them.

"How'm I doin'?" he asked. "Of course, it's, uh, just a theory."

Henry chuckled. "And quite a well-thought-out theory it is, Abraham."

"Sounds plausible to me," Jo agreed. "You ought to become a consultant to the NYPD. Help us solve some murders."

"Uh ... no, thanks," he replied, widening his eyes and shaking his head vigorously. "I'll leave the blood and gore to you two."

"Seriously, though, Henry, it would be great to find out exactly what did happen to him after the Halvern family adopted him," Jo said.

"Hold on a moment," Henry told them. "We're speaking as though we know that that's what happened for certain. What if we're wrong? What if we ... get our hopes up only to have them dashed? What then?"

"We just keep looking," Jo replied matter-of-factly.

"And do you know what this means?" Abe asked, smiling. "There's most likely another Morgan line out there hiding under the Halvern surname. We keep digging ... who knows what we'll find!"

vvvv

Notes:

Information found on Internet about: New York Public Library; Workhouses and Victorian Age Orphanages; London Orphan Asylum, East London/Watford, Hertfordshire


	4. Nora Morgan's Diary Ch 4 A New Relative

Bromsgrove and Catshill Library in Worcestershire County, England, Christmas Eve night ...

In a corner of the library's main presentation room, a small but spirited choir charmed a small audience with their rendition of Paul McCartney's "Simply Having a Wonderful Christmas Time". The pianist, Meredith Colton, was normally fully engaged with enjoying her duty as the choir's musical accompanist but this time found it hard to keep her mind on the music. Luckily, she had played the tune every Christmas either at home or in public for 15 of her 23 years which allowed her to be able to play it in her sleep, if necessary. Of course, she had no plans to sleep during this performance even though the audience's enthusiastic applause came almost as a surprise to her. She abruptly ended the accompaniment and returned the Choirmaster's questioning look with a nervous smile. "Sorry," she silently mouthed to her as she pulled the fall board over the keys and stood up to bow with the other performers.

It was their last performance of the night and she chose to skip the reception. If she were lucky, she told herself, Choirmaster Pearl Overton would not lecture her again. No such luck, she ruefully told herself as a stern-faced Overton approached her.

"Distracted again, were we?" the white-haired octogenarian accused more than asked.

"Um ... I ... sorry," Meredith managed to stammer out. It amazed her how much her childhood piano teacher could still make her feel six years old with that signature, stern look of hers.

"And I suppose you're giving this reception a miss, as well?" Overton asked.

Meredith lowered her dark brown eyes and smoothed a hand nervously down the back of her long, dark brown hair. This was not the first time they'd had this conversation. Miss Overton simply didn't understand. She had stumbled upon something quite remarkable two months ago while combing through the newest batch of DNA matches connected to her online family tree. One in particular had stood out: Abraham Morgan, a Jewish man in New York City! He was a distant cousin match but suddenly since the day before, some of the names in his family tree matched some of hers all the way back to the late 1700s. Names that had been whispered about for decades in her family then more loudly and openly discussed during the airing of that mini-series last year, "The Morgan Chronicles". She simply had to get back to her research and confirm some more things before contacting this Abraham Morgan.

Meredith - preferring to be called Merry - armed into her jacket and turned to leave but not before promising to be at their next performance at a local nursing home tomorrow afternoon. She could feel Overton's eyes burning into the back of her head as she hurried out of the building.

"You're making a mistake, Merry," her friend and self-proclaimed fiance, Corey Watson, told her as he caught up to her. "The little green, triangular sandwiches are delicious!" He scurried alongside her until they reached the street outside the library. "Alright. You talked me into it," he said.

"Into what?" Merry asked, frowning slightly.

"Into continuing your adventure to uncover your family's little secrets," he replied with a grin.

"There's only one that I'm interested in right now," she admitted. "And this Abraham Morgan in the states just might have some answers." She resumed walking away from the building and down the street toward her home a few blocks away.

"We're walking again," a disappointed Corey observed. Merry merely grinned and picked up her pace while he double-stepped to keep up with her. "I am so gutted," he muttered with a sigh.

"You were off key tonight, you know," Merry said teasingly.

"I shake the bloody sleighbells," he replied defensively. "There's no way anyone can be off key with those."

"Somehow you manage," she added and walked ahead of him to hide a mischevious grin.

After reaching Merry's flat in the Grosvenor House on Market Street, Corey helped her set up their meal of the small treats he'd pilfered from the reception while she threw off her jacket and settled in behind her computer. Corey first put the kettle on to boil for tea and then pulled up a chair beside her at the computer.

"What if this Abraham in New York can answer your questions or give you the proof you want? Then what?" Corey asked while devouring one of the little green sandwiches. "You march up to Trillingham Manor and demand to be allowed to move in as the newest member of the Morgan family?" He frowned a bit before sitting up straight and motioning his hands around. "I don't get it; the family you have now is just as prestigious, just as rich as the Morgan family is."

"So it obviously isn't the money or prestige, then, is it?" Merry replied, slightly irritated. "We've gone over this before, Core. The whole thing is a mystery that's fallen into my lap, my generation, to finally solve."

A broad smile overtook her face as her computer indicated that the party she'd called through video chat had answered. "Hello, Abraham."

vvvv

Abe's Antiques, Christmas Eve Day ...

The week leading up to the night before Christmas had been hectic enough without the added activity of reading through Nora's diary and letters, warranting additional research by the shop's three residents. The excitement of discovery mixed with the anticipation of yet another journey to Henry's homeland had both emotionally uplifted and emotionally drained them. At least they had ruled out the need to open up his empty grave in search of his son's body. Because of what they had learned about the shady adoption practices of old Dr. Barton and his son, Edward, they each breathed a sigh of relief at not having to perform any exhumation. Their search now focused on the Halvern family at that time and their descendants. To that end, the three of them now sat on the sofa in the living area in front of Abe's laptop on the coffee table.

The image of an attractive, brown-haired young woman sprang to life on the computer's screen. It was her large, brown, interesting eyes that sparked their collective interests, though. She timidly waved to them and offered an equally nervous greeting to Abe.

"Hello, Meredith," Abe replied to her. "Nice to meet you." He positioned the device so that she could also see his parents but he introduced them as Cousin Henry and his new bride, Jo. "This is, uh, Meredith Colton," Abe told his parents.

"Merry," she interrupted. "Everyone calls me Merry."

Abe nodded, grinning. "This is Merry. She thinks she's descended from a man named Bryon Halvern born about January 1815 in England."

"What do you mean she - " Henry began as he directed his question to Abe but Abe indicated for him to address her. Henry smiled and turned his attention to the screen. "My apologies, Merry. What do you mean you _think_ you are descended from this man Halvern?"

Even as he asked the question, he wasn't sure if he was prepared for the answer. Abe had explained to him about the family tree building site that had matched Abe and her as DNA cousins but more importantly, her tree was a top match with his after he'd added Baby Henry to the tree with Nora and his father as the parents. Amazingly, her tree identified Baby Byron as their son, as well, and with notations about his suspected birth name: Henry Morgan II. What if Halvern had actually been his son? Was he now seeing before him a many-times great-granddaughter? If so, would he be willing to share with her the truth about himself? Sadly, he realized that he would not.

"For decades, maybe centuries," Merry began, "there has been a rumor in my family that Byron was adopted when he was just a baby. There are family records and accounts that Elise Halvern gave birth to a stillborn child more than six months before Byron's reported birthdate. Some in my family believe they were one and the same but there are others like me, who believe Byron was actually the son of a widow named Nora Morgan, who was too despondent to raise the child after her husband's recent death." Merry then scoffed, shaking her head.

"Merry, you say that as if you don't believe it," Jo pointed out, her cop's instincts picking up on the young woman's unspoken skepticism.

Merry chuckled softly and replied, "My research uncovered something of a baby mill back then run by a Dr. Edward Barton and his son, Edward. It was a big scandal at that time back in the 1810s. Human trafficking is all it was if you ask me. Deplorable!" she exclaimed. "By the time Nora Morgan had given birth, the Barton men were being found out. I simply can't believe that she would have had anything to do with them. That is, unless she really was crackers. But I think they must have just stolen her baby and tricked the Halvern couple into adopting him. Seems that was their practice back then. They most likely would have convinced Nora that her baby had died."

The three of them were barely able to curb their enthusiasm upon hearing of how the young woman's research, independent of their own, had led her to almost the same conclusions.

"Uh, Merry," Abe began, "have you figured out our common ancestor yet? I'm kinda new at this DNA stuff." Although he knew the answer to his own question, he was curious to know just how close she had been able to come to the truth.

"A know-it-all friend of mine," she replied, pointing to a mugging Corey on her right.

"Fiance," a smug Corey interjected.

Merry rolled her eyes but continued and the others could detect a slight blush and tug of a smile at her lips. "... figured out that it was Martha Longworth Morgan. She was the paternal maternal grandmother of Henry Morgan II aka Byron Halvern III, from whom I directly descend."

That answered Henry's question of whether or not Merry was his many times great-granddaughter.

"Martha was also the older sister of Dennis Longworth," Merry continued, "from whom you directly descend, Abraham. I know. It's complicated."

The three of them bit their laughter back at her uttering the familiar phrase frequently used by Henry when he felt it best not to elaborate on something for fear of shedding too much light on his condition. Abe told Merry that her information matched his own but they both agreed that documented proof could confirm both their findings. The topic came up of the three of them possibly visiting England again.

"If you do decide to come here," Merry told them, "there's room enough for all of you in my flat which is the entire top floor. It's also close to the library for research and it's not that far from here to Hertfordshire where Nora and Henry Morgan had lived." Before they could respond, Merry lowered her voice and leaned toward the screen.

"She did go mad in her old age, you know. Shot and killed a nurse in 1865. Word is that she was jealous of the woman for dating a man who she thought was her husband. Her husband! The man was in his 20's and couldn't possibly have been her dusty old husband," Merry laughingly told them. "Well, at least she was a Perth and not a Morgan. I don't have to worry about going off the rails like her."

"Uh, yeah," Abe chuckled nervously, glancing at his father, visibly cringing away from the screen at her version of that heartbreaking time for Nora, Anna Peyton, and him. "We've, uh, gotta go, Merry," Abe told her. "Christmas Eve and all. Still lots to do before the big day tomorrow." The two groups bid each other goodbye with happy holiday wishes and they ended the video call.

"You okay, Pops?" Abe asked, still staring at the closed up laptop.

"Yes, Abraham, I'm fine," Henry replied, smiling.

"So, are we goin' or what?" Jo asked.

"I don't see how we can avoid it," Henry responded. "But ... let's wait until the spring thaw. The Thames is frozen over, according to news reports. Should any ... mishap occur, I don't wish to risk becoming a human popsicle."

Abe, already dressed for his dinner date with Fawn, left to go pick her up. Henry and Jo decided to stay in and cozy up in front of the fireplace. It warmed Henry's heart as well to see his son finally able to share his life with Fawn, the woman he loved.

"Your great-granddaughter has your eyes, I think," Jo told him. She sat on the sofa and toyed with his curly locks while he laid back with his head in her lap. His eyes closed, his right hand gently caressed hers as it rested on his chest atop his scar. He grinned and chuckled as he responded.

"I'll have to get Abraham to count backwards to just how many times of a great-granddaughter she is."

"Henry ... if we wait for better weather over there, I might not be able to go with you," she told him.

His eyes flew open and he sat upright, looking her in the face. "Are you feeling all right, darling?"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine," she replied. "Now. I just don't know if I'd be able to take that long flight and endure the other rigors of travel when I'm further along. I want to make sure that this baby gets here, that's all."

"So ... what are you saying, you want to leave for England now?" he asked. "If you do, you'll have to go without me."

"Um ... well ... that was the next thing I was going to bring up," she hesitantly admitted. Realization washed over his face and he began to protest. "I, I know how much it means to you to find out for sure if Byron was actually your son and I understand your concerns about something happening that might have you popping up in the frozen Thames River so ... let this be one of my Christmas presents to you."

"You? You'll go over there alone?" he asked, frowning. "No, Jo, I'll just have to be extra careful - "

"Abe. Abe will go with me," she interrupted.

"Abe ... ? I ... " Henry rose from his seat and paced toward the fireplace, gazing into it. "It really should be me. I'm ... I mean I was his father." He turned to face Jo, his face crumpled with concern. "I will just have to be extra, extra careful not to fall into any mishap."

Jo rose from her seat and walked over to face him. "Then it's the Three Musketeers again, I guess," she told him with a wide grin. She wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him close. "And I'll hold you to your promise to be extra, extra careful."

He chuckled and wrapped his arms around her, hugging her even closer. "You have my word."

They then kissed and lost themselves in each other, making love on the white, fur rug while the fire in the hearth crackled down into embers.

vvvv

Jo and Henry woke up late on Christmas morning and languished in bed as long as they could until the enticing smells of breakfast from the kitchen caused their stomachs to grumble louder and louder. They piled out of bed but quickly showered and dressed after Abe barred them from the kitchen until they'd "made themselves presentable".

As Jo and Henry seated themselves at the kitchen table, Henry muttered something to the effect that sometimes his son exhibited a parent authority over him. To which Abe retorted that his father's behavior sometimes warranted it.

"Sorry, Dad," Abe told him as he settled into his chair to enjoy his breakfast. "You may have lived longer than me but you haven't experienced life in old skin - yet."

"What difference should that make?" Henry asked. "I raised you!"

"I've gotten set in my ways; don't like unwashed people in my kitchen! And you did a marvelous job raising me, by the way," Abe replied teasingly. "I'm a perfect son."

"No arguments this morning again about who's the true old guy around here," Jo smilingly interrupted, holding up her hand. "Let's just enjoy our Christmas day, please." They all resumed eating the tasty breakfast of ham, eggs, and fried potatoes that Abe had prepared. "Besides, both of you have done enough to earn the title of grumpy old man, if you ask me," Jo added, trying and failing to hide her grin.

Both men clutched their hearts, feigning injured feelings, but after she assured them that she dearly loved both of them, the three of them gave into their laughter. And as soon as they finished eating, Jo and Henry cleared the table and put the dishes into the sink to soak, each of them anxious to open their gifts.

"You know, I've always liked this nice little holiday you guys have," Abe playfully observed. "The gifts, the music, the feast. Pretty cool," he added chuckling. All the while, though, he cradled his gift of a 12-year-old scotch from his father and a book of Yiddish poems, fables, and fairy tales from his new mother; and two tickets to see "Hamilton" from both of them. He'd only jokingly referred to her as "Mom" or "Momma Jo" because of the true age difference between them but deep down, he loved and respected her as much as he had Abigail, the woman he'd called mother and who had helped to rear him. What a lucky guy he was, he told himself, to be part of such a great bunch of people who made up his family.

"Fawn wants to go to England with us." Abe had blurted it out, not knowing how else to broach the subject, and waited tensely for his parents to respond.

"Well, that's ... " Henry began. He then looked at Jo, nodding, then back at Abe, and they both spoke over each to let him know that they both thought it was a great idea.

"Really?" Abe replied, relaxing and bringing his smile back. "That's great! I'll go call her and let her know it's a go. Then I'll call the airline and add her to our reservation." As he got up and walked over to the landline, Henry and Jo both frowned in confusion.

"Airline?" Jo asked.

"Add her to our reservation?" Henry asked.

"Yeah. I booked our flight for next week," he replied as he waited for her to pick up at the other end. "I knew you'd talk ole Dust Butt here out of waiting for better weather over there. The weather's never better over there! Oh, hi, honey ... yeah, it's a go. You're coming with us." He bobbed his head up and down and then said goodbye and hung up. He walked back over and retook his seat, smiling at them.

Henry narrowed his eyes at his son, then moved his gaze to his wife. "Were you in on this, too?" he asked her.

"Me?" Jo replied, feigning hurt and surprise. "You're accusing me of, of keeping secrets? Of not being truthful with you? Me?" She pressed her hand to her chest and shook her head in mock disbelief. "I, I just don't know what to say to that." She pretended to blink back tears and added, "This hurts, Henry. You don't trust me."

Henry watched her in disbelief then doubled over with laughter as Abe clapped slowly but loudly, announcing, "And the Oscar for the **worst** performance by someone who will **never** be mistaken for an actress goes to ... "

vvvv

Notes:

Information about Bromsgrove and Catshill Library in Worcestershire County, England found on the Internet


	5. Nora Morgan's Diary Ch 5 Abe Lets Fawn I

This is a short chapter (sorry) because of the long time lapse between this and the last chapter. But Chapter 6 should be up by next week. Thanks to all who are still following along. I appreciate it!

vvvv

Fawn is only mentioned in Chapter 29 of The Morgan Chronicles without mention of her knowing about either Henry's condition or his true relationship to Abe. The fact that she will be accompanying Abe, Jo, and Henry on their return trip to England means that she now knows. This chapter will explore how things were revealed to her and her reaction.

vvvv

Christmas night ...

Three hours after Abe and Fawn had enjoyed their dinner date at Felidia, an Italian restaurant in Midtown East Manhattan, the two of them sat in the living room of her home on Stanton, 20 blocks from Abe's shop, enjoying a nightcap.

"What was my dish called again?" Fawn asked, remembering her mouth-watering veal tenderloin.

"Vitello," Abe replied, staring into his glass of brandy.

She repeated it to herself as if committing it to memory. "And yours was?"

"Manzo," he replied again and took another sip.

She smiled, nodded, and sipped from her glass. After swallowing, she told him how glad she was that he'd chosen that place, a new place for her even though it had been in operation for several years. But she had sensed all through dinner and now that something was on his mind. Feeling that if she waited for him to tell her, she'd still be waiting, so she finally asked, "Abe, what is it?"

"Huh?" he replied.

"You're here but you're not here," she pointed out to him. "What's going on in that head of yours?"

He sighed then slowly raised his blue eyes to lock with hers of green. He knew what he wanted to tell her but couldn't find the right words; or the courage to utter them. Now he knew how his father must have felt every time he'd urged him to reveal his secret of immortality to Jo. He wondered to himself how this was going to go. However it went, though, he knew that he certainly couldn't have told her anything about it in a public place like that restaurant. Maybe that's why he'd chosen to eat out instead of at her home: because in this instance, he was a coward. But he realized that he was only delaying the inevitable. If Dad could do it - share this incredible secret with the woman he loved - then so could he.

"There is something I want to tell you," he quietly admitted. "Something very important."

She nodded slightly and ran her fingers underneath her even, red bangs then closed her hand around his. "You can tell me anything. You know that, right?" she stated more than asked.

He smiled and nodded but remained silent.

"It's not anything bad, is it?" she asked. "Nothing to do with your health?"

"Oh, no, no, no," he quickly replied. "In fact, the doctors keep telling me that I have the blood pressure of a 30-year-old."

"Well, that's great," she said, relieved but still curious.

He then rose from his seat and paced nervously back and forth in front of her before she finally urged him to sit back down beside her on the sofa.

"Abe, it can't be this hard to tell me whatever it is," she told him. Noticing the sweat on his brow for the first time, she held both of his hands in hers and squeezed them and it seemed to help calm him down.

"All right. I'll ask the questions," she offered. Surprised, he nodded his okay to her. "Okay, um ... does it have anything to do with your ex-wife, Maureen? Are you getting back with her?"

"No!" he exclaimed. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

As nervous as he still was and as preposterous as her question was, he still loved the way her eyes danced over him and how they flashed when she was in deep concentration. He'd almost forgotten that. In school, he'd found himself staring often at her even during tests, prompting the teacher to accuse him of cheating off of her.

"Have you broken the law or is the IRS on your back?" she asked, frowning slightly.

"No. Fawn ... this has nothing to do with me," he replied. "I mean it does but ... " He still didn't quite know how to tell her and he chuckled nervously while silently apologizing to his father for not having understood until this moment how difficult sharing their family secret with someone else would be.

"This has to do with Henry. My roommate," he clarified. "Only he's more than just my roommate."

"You told me that you two were longtime family friends before finding out recently that you were actually cousins," she noted.

"Yeah, he's a friend and my cousin but ... Look, Fawn. This isn't easy to tell so I'm just gonna - " Just then, something popped into his head that might help him deliver this bombshell a bit smoother. Just as his father had shared his secret with Jo by pacing his story along with the mini-series as it had progressed, he drew on a memory held dear to both Fawn and him.

"Remember that day at the malt shop when we were kids?" he asked.

"Our first kiss, yes," she replied, a smile broadening across her face.

"Mom had driven over to pick us up and drive you back home but she stopped to pick up my Dad from a nearby medical clinic where he was volunteering his services."

She frowned a bit, trying to grasp the rest of the memory. "I remember your Mom." Then she perked up and said, "Yeah, your Dad was in the front seat of the car when she was driving me back home. I remember his accent and dummy me," she added, rolling her eyes in embarrassment, "telling him that he talked like Robin Hood." That sparked laughter from both of them.

"Can you remember what he looked like?" Abe asked.

"Well ... dark hair, dark eyes," she hesitantly began. "Mmmm, brown eyes. A really nice smile. He kind of looked like the guy who played Robin Hood on that TV show, too." She shrugged and gave him a smile mixed with fond remembrance and confusion. "You said you had something to tell me about Henry, though."

"Just ... work with me here," Abe gently urged her. "Have you ever seen my Cousin Henry?"

"From a distance, briefly, at his wedding, but I couldn't stay, remember? The timing of my eldest grandson's high school graduation overlapped with the wedding ceremony."

"Thing is ... I don't want you to faint once you do meet him and see his dark hair, brown eyes, smile, and hear that Robin Hood voice of his," he told her.

"Abe, what are you ... what are you saying?" she asked, totally confused.

He closed his eyes, pausing before replying. "I'm saying that I can show you photos of me as a baby with my parents. Photos of me with my parents as I'd grown up. In those photos, only Mom and I look as though we'd aged over the years. But not Dad." He looked her directly in the eyes and continued. "He looks exactly the same today as he looked when I was a baby." He could see the confusion and doubt flickering through her eyes as she leaned away from him, shaking her head but he was determined to finish telling her.

"Why? You're saying he, he doesn't age?" she asked, her voice just above a whisper.

"Exactly," he replied, releasing a long-held breath and taking in another one to bolster his courage. "Henry is an Immortal." He almost choked on the last word when she flinched at the same time.

Fawn was quiet for several minutes, her eyes traveling back and forth as she blinked. Finally, she covered her mouth with her hand, shaking her head. Abe watched her as she leaned against the back of the sofa running her hands up and down her thighs and occasionally gripping her knees. She seemed to be sorting things out. At least, he hoped she was and that she was reaching a desirable conclusion. Not the one that painted him as a liar or a lunatic. After a few more minutes, she shifted in her seat and looked at him again.

"Only because it's you, Abe," she told him.

"Then ... you believe me?" he asked, encouraged.

"Well, let's just say that I'm ready to believe you," she clarified. "Do you have some of those photos you mentioned with you?"

Raising the finger of one hand and smiling, he pulled a thick envelope from his inside jacket pocket and handed it to her. She opened the envelope, hesitating slightly before pulling them all the way out. Her brow pinched together as she peered down at the top photo, one of a laughing him at about age three and sitting on a smiling Henry's lap. Abe had scooted closer to her and smilingly admired it.

"He was tickling me," Abe told her.

Fawn didn't respond as she studied the next photo of him as a baby being held by a pretty and smiling Abigail with a smiling Henry standing next to them.

"We'd just arrived in New York," he told her. "Year was 1945."

The next was that of Henry and him just before the start of a sack race at his fifth-grade Father-Son Day festival.

Fawn's face lit up and her gaze lingered on the photo. "I remember that day," she told him.

"How could you?" he asked. "Girls weren't allowed. It was fathers and sons."

"Who do you think made all of the decorations and refreshments?" she pointedly asked. "The boys only made the posters. My mother and I were working the hotdog stand for you greedy guys."

"Oh. Oh, yeah," he chuckled.

"The two of you almost won the sack race but that bully, Tommy Bailey, and his father won because Tommy had pushed you guys down from behind. You ran after Tommy to beat him up, I guess, and he knocked me down running from you. You and your father helped my Mom with me and since he was a doctor, he tended to my skinned elbow." A smile of remembrance took command of her face and she blinked wide-eyed at Abe.

"He was so kind and gentle," she said. "My God, Abe. I've been seeing your Henry in the papers for the past few years related to different crimes he'd helped the police to solve and noticing how much he looks like ... " A look of wonder settled on her face and she looked again at Abe. "My God," she repeated. "Immortal."

They concentrated once again on the rest of the photos while Abe filled her in on the individual stories behind each one. After which he filled her in on the current mystery surrounding Henry's son born in the 1800s that was drawing them back to England for some answers.

"That sounds so tragic but intriguing," she said. "You two have probably had a most interesting life together."

"You bet we have," Abe told her with a chuckle.

"Thank you for sharing this amazing secret with me, Abe. I'm sure it wasn't easy." She pulled his face close to hers and kissed him on the cheek, causing him to blush. Such a simple, sweet gesture as that was enough to reduce him to a bundle of giggly nerves.

"When can I meet him, Abe?" she asked. "I want to meet him but I don't want to scare him away."

"No, he's been expecting this for a while," he told her.

"Tonight?" she eagerly asked.

"Let's, uh, plan for tomorrow, okay?" an uncertain Abe replied, chuckling. His level of uncertainty increased when she let him know that she wanted to accompany them when they returned to England. "That's great, honey, really. Let me run it by Pops and Jo and I'll call you. Okay?"

"Abe, um ... have you ever told anyone else?" she asked.

He shook his head. "No. No one."

"Not even Maureen?" she asked, astonished.

"Especially not her!" he replied, rearing his head back and bellowing out a laugh. He calmed himself and said, "They've never even met." He reached over and squeezed her hand. "You're the first of my friends or anyone close to me to actually meet Henry knowing that he's my Dad."

They finished off the evening with another nightcap while Fawn listened to Abe tell her about his life as the son of an immortal man.

vvvv

Later on that same evening back at the antiques shop ...

It had been a relatively quiet Christmas for the three residents of the apartment above Abe's Antiques. Even after Abe had blurted out that Fawn wished to go with them when they returned to England and he'd breathed a sigh of relief when they responded positively, he had he quickly called her to give her the good news. Then he called the airline to include her in their flight reservation. And even after Abe had let them know that he'd told Fawn about Henry's condition and their true relationship to each other as father and son.

"Still feeling guilty about our turning down all those invitations to Christmas dinners?" Jo asked Henry.

"In a way," Henry replied. "I don't want you to feel that you have to shutter yourself away from family and friends because of me."

"It's okay, honey. I've never been a big party-goer anyway. And when Mama announced that she'd be on a cruise this Christmas and my sister and her husband chose to tag along with their five kids," she laughed, "that quickly became a family gathering I didn't mind missing." She laughed louder when she pointed out that Hanson's two boys he referred to as monsters had nothing on her five nieces and nephews dubbed the new Bebe's Kids. After realizing that she had to explain the reference to Henry, he eventually reacted by bugging his eyes and jokingly advised her that they should say a special prayer for the ship's crew and other passengers.

Notes:

Felidia restaurant

r/felidia-new-york?avt=eyJ2IjoxLCJtIjoxLCJwIjowfQ&corrId=7b8ca2fa-383a-44c9-99e3-f591f71fc7b0&p=2&sd=2019-03-29+22

Bebe's Kids, released in 1992, is an animated film based on a stand-up routine by the late comedian, Robin Harris that is shown in a brief live-action segment at the beginning of the film. The story begins with an animated version of Harris woefully recounting his troubles to a blind bartender. He traces his problems all the way back to Jamika, an attractive woman he met at a funeral. The next day, Jamika introduces Robin to Kahlil, LaShawn, and Pee-Wee, the neglected, truant, violent children of her absentee hedonistic friend.

wiki/B%C3%A9b%C3%A9%27s_Kids


	6. Nora Morgan's Diary Ch 6 Aunt Merry

Henry and Fawn meet ...

Christmas had fallen on a Monday, a normally busy day of commerce for the antiques shop. The next day, Tuesday, would usually have found Abe practically mourning any missed revenue. Instead, he viewed the end of the week with great anticipation because Fawn would join his parents and him on their second trip to England. But before that would happen, Fawn had requested to meet Henry. For the past four years, Abe had identified him to her as his friend, roommate, business partner, and cousin. Now, she knew the truth: that he was actually Abe's adoptive father and ... an Immortal.

After Abe's astounding revelations and after he'd left her home the night before, Fawn hadn't gotten a wink of sleep. Never in her life had she ever imagined that she'd encounter a situation as amazing as this, a person as amazing as Henry. Now, in the light of day, the mix of emotions she was left with remained relentless in their attack on her senses. Although grateful that Abe had chosen to share such a guarded family secret with her and excited to finally meet Henry, she was also fearful of how he would react to her knowing the truth about him. She hoped that she would be calm and present herself with courtesy and understanding. No ... tolerance. No. Oh, she just hoped that she could keep it together and not embarrass herself or anyone else!

vvvv

The shop's door loomed into her awareness sooner than she'd expected and she stood there frozen for a moment before knocking. A nervous smile spread across her face when she saw Abe emerge from the room behind the retail counter at the back of the shop and quickly walk to the door and unlock it, letting her enter. She'd only caught a glimpse of her reflection in the shop's glass door before he opened it and she prayed that she didn't look the complete jangle of nerves that she was. Abe's broad and welcoming grin worked wonders to help calm her nerves a bit. Just a bit.

They greeted each other with a kiss and he told her that he, his father, and Jo were just sitting down to lunch and there was a spot for her. His father. Those words and that fact had still not found a comfortable place in her well of knowledge and understanding. She nodded and reminded herself to smile as they ascended the stairs to the second floor living quarters. Her heart was beating out of her chest but she didn't know why. Well, she was going to meet an Immortal for the first time in her life but it wasn't as if he was some kind of monster or anything like that.

 _'Good thing he's a doctor in case I have a heart attack or stroke out,'_ she wryly told herself.

And there he was. Impeccably dressed even without his suit jacket in a white shirt, tie, and dark grey vest and trousers. He rose from his seat at the kitchen table to greet her, ever the gentleman. She hadn't been aware that she'd been wringing her hands until Abe clamped one of his over hers and put his other arm around her shoulders.

"Er, Dad, Jo. This is my fiance, Fawn Ames," Abe proudly announced to them, smiling broadly. He looked at Fawn and with equal pride, told her, "Sweetie, this is Henry, my Dad. And this is his wife, Jo; my new Mom," he chuckled.

"Mrs. Ames," Henry began. "Fawn. It's a pleasure to meet you." He extended his hand but she just stared at it for a few seconds before lifting her eyes back up to meet his and grasping his hand in a stronger handshake than she thought she was capable of.

"Oh, the pleasure is all mine, Henry," she replied in a hushed but sincere tone.

They all sat down at the table and though it began awkwardly, by the end of the meal, the level of tension had lowered enough to allow them to truly enjoy their time together. At different intervals throughout the meal and at the end of it, however, they noticed that their special guest stole long, questioning glances at Henry.

Henry pulled his lips in, sighing, and lowered his head, looking at Jo and Abe then back to Fawn, accepting the inevitable. "Please," he started. "Ask your questions."

A bit stunned but at the same time delighted, Fawn admitted that she didn't know quite where to start. Then proceeded to unleash a barrage of queries ranging from what it was like growing up in the 18th century to how he'd first met Abe to how many famous people he may have met. Henry had laughed good-naturedly and answered her as best he could even over a few objections from Abe. After all, he told Abe, she was part of their family now, part of their inner circle; therefore, she was entitled to know the truth. Of course, he withheld some information from her, i.e., about Adam, and some of his more gruesome deaths. Although he didn't believe that Fawn would do anything to harm him or reject him those memories, he felt, were best not shared with friends and family during a pleasant meal.

Fawn, realizing that she was letting her curiosity guide her emotions, stopped herself from uttering another word by clamping both hands over her mouth. She then clasped her hands together and lowered them to her lap, apologizing to all of them for monopolizing the conversation. Henry smilingly assured her that she needn't apologize, that he'd taken no offense.

"But now that I know the truth about you," she began, "when I look at you, I see you both ways." At their slight frowns of confusion, she explained, "I remember you from when I was a little girl."

"Understandable," Henry conceded.

"But seeing you now ... when you don't look any older than my own children is ... a bit strange, to say the least," she admitted. "Oh, not that _you're_ strange," she quickly added. "It's just that this whole ... _situation_ is strange." She then looked across the table at Jo as if seeking help to explain this odd feeling to her. "And I'm not sure what to call you," she admitted further.

"Henry," the Immortal replied. "Just call me Henry."

Fawn returned his smile and shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut then popping them open again. "I didn't mean to dominate the conversation like this but now that I have," she paused, "would you all mind filling me in on this new mystery surrounding Abe's older older brother?"

They chuckled at her referring to Baby Henry as Abe's older older brother while they cleared the table and moved the conversation into the other room with the corkboard displaying the clues they'd managed to gather.

Fawn moved closer to the corkboard, holding Nora's diary. She looked down at it in her hands and then up at the documents on the corkboard again, a serious look of concern mixed with anger on her face.

"If someone had stolen any of my children," she said, " I wouldn't leave a stone unturned to find them." She looked at her three companions, now her newest family members, and told them with convincing candor, "I would kill to get them back."

vvvv

London, Heathrow Airport, four days later ...

The two couples (Jo and Henry; Abe and Fawn) stood in front of the Oriel Grande Brasserie cafe near the entrance of Terminal 41 as they'd been instructed to do by their host, Merry. She had assured them that she and Corey would be there to meet them. It had been more than an hour, though, and their feet and patience were giving out.

"Call her again," Jo urged Abe.

"It just goes to voicemail," an exasperated Abe replied. He cast a grim scowl at his companions and said, "Maybe we've been scammed."

"Abe, I don't see how - " Henry was cut off at the sound of a young woman yelling out Abe's name.

"Merry!" Abe yelled back, waving his arm up. "Yeah, over here!" He flopped his arm down and muttered, "Finally."

Merry and Corey raced up to them, both flustered and embarrassed, gushing apologies about being late and something about a mad capper in the roundabout.

"Sorry," Corey explained in his thick, Cockney accent. "Road Rage. Two drivers fighting it out with their motorcars and then their fists. Because of them and the Bobbies, the rest of us weren't moving an inch in either direction!" He grunted that last part as he placed the last of their luggage in the back of the van. "Couldn't call you because both our phones had died."

"That answers my next question," Abe murmured.

Closing the van's storage compartment shut, Corey called out to Merry that she was driving.

"You're driving!" Merry loudly countered, buckling her seatbelt.

"I'm driving!" he quickly and loudly replied. Under his breath, he muttered, "Of course, I am." After sliding in under the wheel on the 'wrong' side of the vehicle, according to his three American passengers' way of thinking, he buckled up and gave Merry and all of them a smile. "And away we go," he announced, pulling away from the curb into traffic and driving away from the airport.

Twenty minutes later, they arrived at Grosvenor House and piled out of the van. They followed Merry and Corey into the building and up to her flat, the top floor. She showed them to their bedrooms (Henry and Jo in what was the third bedroom; Abe and Fawn in what was the fourth of six bedrooms). Acquiescing to Henry's apparent disapproval, though, Abe requested that he and Fawn occupy separate rooms and his bags were moved to the fifth bedroom.

"Henry, it's 2018, for God's sake!" Abe growled at him as he tossed his suitcase on the bed. "If our host doesn't have a problem with us being in the same room together, you shouldn't either."

"Yes, it's 2018," Henry conceded. "But you are still the gentleman that I - " He stepped closer to Abe and lowered his voice. "That you were raised to be. And Fawn is a lady worthy of your proper treatment and respect."

Henry turned and walked over to Jo where she stood in the doorway. She smiled sympathetically and shrugged when Abe eyed her with frustration.

"Jo," Abe said to her in an effort to enlist her aid in swaying his father to see things his way. The modern way.

Henry paused in the doorway while he and Jo exchanged a look. She then looked over at Abe and said, "Remember your father's teaching." Henry smiled thanks to her for backing him up and they left for their room to freshen up before dinner.

"Oh, it's like that, huh?" Abe rasped out loud to himself as he rolled his eyes and huffed out a sigh of frustration over his father's oldfashioned mores, regretting that he and Fawn had not booked a room for themselves in a nearby hotel. Then a sly smile crept across his lips when he spied what appeared to be a door adjoining his room with hers. He scooted over to it and tugged at the doorknob but the door wouldn't open. He concluded that it must be locked from the other side. A situation easily remedied, he happily concluded.

He slipped a hastily scrawled note under the door and waited eagerly for it to open. Instead, he saw a note being pushed under the door into his room and he picked it up and read it.

In beautiful, old-style handscript, these words were written: "In order to avoid any seeming impropriety and out of respect for both Fawn and our host, your parents are now occupying this adjoining room. Although you may not appreciate it now, you will thank me for this later."

The note, though unsigned, could only have been written by his prudish father, Abe concluded. "For the love of - " He crumbled the note up and tossed it into the wastebasket near the door. He'd heard that last line of the note uttered many times by his father as he'd grown up. "Okay, Dad. You win," he reluctantly declared to the locked door.

vvvv

Later on, Merry and Corey hosted a dinner of fish and chips for all of them, Merry apologizing for the plainness of it.

"No, no, no, this is wonderful," Henry told her. "It's been ... a long time since I've enjoyed authentic English fish and chips. One of my favorite dishes," he assured her and his three companions agreed. Merry smiled sheepishly and a gloating Corey leaned over to her and whispered that he'd known they would like it.

Jo tilted her head to the side as she eyed the delivery bag under the stack of bright yellow paper napkins that had come with their meal. She carefully slid the bag out from under the napkins and studied the dark green logo on it.

"St. George on the Strand." She compared the caricature of a smiling young man's face to Corey's, noting the striking resemblance. "Looks like you."

"Well, that's because it is me," he proudly replied. "About ten years ago but still ... me." He took the bag from her and held it up to his own smiling face.

"You own that restaurant?" she asked, surprised and impressed.

"Noooo, noooo," he replied, chuckling. "They merely pay me for the use of my handsome likeness. And, believe me, to a poor East-Ender, it's a handsome sum, as well."

"A former East-Ender," Merry clarified. "And one day they're going to update their logo and toss you aside."

"Which is why I've saved my money and developed a Plan B," he told her. "One never knows what the future may hold."

They'd finished their meal and Corey rose from the table, clearing it off. "I'll take care of all this," he told Merry. "You guys have much to discuss."

"He doesn't live here," Merry answered her three guests' collective but unspoken query. "But," she quietly added, "as the little bugger says, one never knows what the future may hold."

"Oh, well, that's, uh ... " Abe awkwardly replied. _'More than I care to know.'_

Henry felt the need to step in and steer the conversation toward the reason for their visit. Especially since he was beginning to feel the veil of sleep dropping over him. He imagined that Jo, Abe, and Fawn must feel the same way after their long trip.

"Merry, do you know where ... the old gentleman Byron Halvern is buried?" Careful not to sound too overanxious or desperate, and good company aside, he strongly felt that he should let her know that he needed to see the final resting place of this man. His son.

"Yes," Merry replied. "My family and I have visited his gravesite often at Bromsgrove Cemetery not too far from here. I can take you there tomorrow."

vvvv

The next morning, after a quick breakfast of tea and raisin tea buns, the group boarded the van with Merry at the wheel and headed out to Bromsgrove Old Cemetery. Noting Corey's absence, Merry explained that he had left the night before.

"He wanted to come with us but has an important meeting scheduled in Liverpool this afternoon with Macca," she said, using the popular British nickname for Beatles legend, Sir Paul McCartney. When neither of them reacted, though, it occurred to her that they weren't familiar with the nickname and she chose not to explain it further to them. Later, she thought. No need to name drop right now. The only name they were all concerned with at the moment was Halvern.

After a half hour drive, they arrived at Bromsgrove Old Cemetery and motored through the entrance, parking alongside the spot where many of the Halvern family were buried. They left the van and somberly followed Merry up a narrow, paved walkway past several graves with tall, stone gravemarkers. The path gave way to meticulously landscaped greenery and they stepped across the first row of graves, following Merry past a second row and stopping at a grave with a large granite headstone with lettering on a bronze inset.

"Here," is all she said, looking at the headstone and crouching down.

Henry swallowed to ease his dry throat, his heart pounding in his ears. He moved slowly closer to the grave and dropped to one knee. Apparently, Byron had lived from January 1815 to March 1865. Buried next to him was his wife, Genevieve, ten years younger than he, but who had outlived him only six months. Not uncommon, Henry lamented to himself. After the death of a spouse, many times the surviving spouse also dies soon after; especially if the marriage was of long duration such as theirs apparently had been.

The wording on the inset identified Byron and Genevieve as loving parents. He wondered how many children they had had. What were their names? What had their lives been like? A watery-eyed smile of pride played over his face at the thought of all who had lived and still lived because he and Nora had had one child. But it was the two lines from an old hymn on the inset that brought him to the brink of tears:

 _"No pain nor grief nor anxious fear_

 _Can reach the peaceful sleeper here."_

He rose to his feet while Jo softly recited the two lines. "Not the exact wording," Henry stated. "But the two lines are taken from a hymn penned by Isaac Watts in 1734 to the tune of Handel's DIRGE. The exact wording is:

 _"Nor pain, nor grief, nor anxious fear_

 _Invades thy bounds, no mortal woes,_

 _Can reach the lovely sleeper here,_

 _And angels watch her soft repose"_

He swallowed the lump in his throat and squeezed his hand around Jo's after she'd slipped her hand in his. Abe patted him on the back and he turned away from Merry in order to hide his troubled countenance from her. She would wonder why he was so moved by all of this since, to her knowledge, he was merely a very distant cousin to this man who'd lived centuries ago.

"His parents, grandparents, and many of his siblings and descendants are buried in this location," Merry told them, nodding to different gravesites around them. She snapped a picture of Byron's headstone with her cell phone. "I'll send this to you if you like."

Abe stepped over to her and shared his email address with her and she sent it. They smiled and joined the others already getting back into the van.

"Where to now?" Merry asked as she got in behind the wheel again and buckled up. "I know. How about we visit my Great Aunt Merry? I'm named for her. She's 103 but her mind is still sharp and she's as spry as a spring chicken, as they say. Has lots of photos and stories," she told them as she motored out of the cemetery. "You'll love her!"

They settled back to enjoy the short drive. It also gave Henry a chance to collect himself. He made eye contact with Abe, who was sitting in front of him next to Fawn. They shared a smile of mutual encouragement and he realized that Abe had also been deeply affected by the sight of his much older brother's headstone.

"Here we are," Merry announced as she pulled the van up to a white picket fence in front of a two-story cottage with a steeply-pitched roof. Its tall, narrow windows arranged in bands complemented the over-scaled chimney adorned with decorative brickwork.

They followed her out of the van and up the walkway and the few steps that led to the steeply-gabled, enclosed entry. She rang the bell and shortly after were let in by a maid. She and Merry greeted each other warmly and the maid informed her that her aunt was in the backyard tending her garden. They followed Merry through the cottage's cozy but irregularly-shaped living room and out to the garden. There, they found a diminutive, wrinkled but wise white-haired woman.

 _'For every wrinkle told a story of struggle and survival.'_ Henry recalled the line from an obscure novel or poem.

Her weak eyes peered at them over her bifocals, knowing or not knowing how deeply she peered inside into the shallowness of every soul. In her younger days, she'd been taught to be demure and shrink like a violet, hardly ever to say when she was right. But she'd thrown off that shroud of submissiveness three husbands and more than 60 years ago. She now roared proudly and loudly as a lioness when she was right. Well, she was mostly right most of the time. In spite of weak hands, she possessed a strong will and to never be tamed was her only goal.

With a hunched back, she knew that most would view her with fright. She was mindful to keep a smile on her face for the young fluffers, as she called them, approaching her in order to counteract that view.

"Aunt Merry!" her younger namesake greeted her with a hug and kiss on the cheek.

The older woman patted her on the arm and demanded to know who was with her. Merry gladly introduced them to her great aunt and proceeded to explain the reason for their visit.

"All the way from America, eh?" Aunt Merry asked as she bid them to follow her back into her home. "And you want to know about the Halvern family," she stated. She nodded and eased herself down into a plushly upholstered rocking chair near the fireplace, looking around at each of them as they found seats on the sofa or on the loveseat.

"I've been waiting for more than 80 years for someone to come and ask me about this," she told them while she rocked. "The great mystery of the Halvern baby. Are we Morgans or Halverns?" she asked rhetorically, laughing softly.

"And which are you, young man?" she asked Abe.

His eyebrows flew up and he stammered out, "M-Morgan. A-although my original last name was Weinraub."

Aunt Merry nodded and turned her smile to Henry. "Um, Morgan," he gulped and replied.

"Ahhh, and you wish to know if - Oh, thank you, Dearie," she told Merry, who had brought in a stack of five, oversized photo albums from the small study. She placed them on the coffee table and they all leaned in to hear Aunt Merry's stories and to view the photos.

For the next two hours, they listened to the centenarian's account of her life as a Halvern with the cloud of the Morgan family hanging over them. She showed them copies of portraits with Byron III in them as a baby with his parents, Byron II and Elise. Another of him at age 12 with his parents and younger sister, Eliza, and infant brother, Marion.

"Now, the two younger ones were definitely Halverns," Aunt Merry declared, pointing to their images. "You can see the slight differences in the eyes. Young Byron's large, inquisitive, owlish eyes," she continued. "And those curly locks on him. Not exactly the same as the wavy locks on his siblings or the mother, Elise."

They continued to carefully turn the pages of the albums, poring over the later images of Byron III at age 21 in a military uniform in 1836.

"He was a decorated member of the Coldstream Guards," Aunt Merry proudly explained. "Fought in the Crimean War in the 1850s and when they returned triumphantly to England, he was one of only four men to receive the new honor, the Victorian Cross."

"Of course, he joined them before they had the official name bestowed upon them," Henry said. "It wasn't until 1855, two years after the Crimean War began and one year before it ended," he added.

"You're quite knowledgeable for a young fluff," Aunt Merry noted with surprise. "And by the sound of your voice, you're one of us."

Henry grinned and dipped his head.

"What type of work might you do over there in the U. S. of A.?" she asked him.

"I'm a Medical Examiner with the City of New York," he replied.

"Ahhh, interesting. That means you have medical training and ... at one time in your life was a regular doctor?" Aunt Merry asked.

Henry hesitated before replying, "That's correct."

"And what made you switch horses?" she pressed. "Although it's probably easier dealing with the silent patients rather than the ones who complain all the time, I suppose."

"It, ah, was simply time for a change," he told her, secretly wishing for the focus of the conversation to move back to his son and the Halvern family.

"Well, be careful whatever you do," she began as a warning to him. "The government over there appears to be focused on people like you, who are identified with the infamous "I" word."

"The ... I word?" he asked with a bit of apprehension.

"Yes," Aunt Merry replied. "Immigrant."

The two amused couples smiled at each other, secretly relieved that she hadn't meant "Immortal".

The maid rolled in a cart holding tea, coffee, and sandwiches for them. Only then did they recall the skimpy breakfast they'd had. Aunt Merry thanked the maid, Inger, and urged her niece and guests to dig in, which they did.

"There's something else I think you should know about my seventh great-grandfather, Byron III," she continued. "He was plagued - I believe the term used now is stalked - by poor old Nora Morgan from time to time beginning when she first showed up at his and Genevieve's wedding in 1837, professing to be his natural mother. Of course, she was dispatched forthwith but by then, she'd already acquired a reputation for being, shall we say, off her rocker?"

Henry listened uncomfortably to the woman's troubling account. All this time he'd thought that Nora's obsession with him in 1865 was a sudden occurrence. Apparently, she had never given up on finding out the truth about their son, who had apparently rejected her, thinking her to be a mad woman. The fact that her long lost husband's claim of immortality had also been proven in 1865, must have pushed her over the brink.

"She was obsessed with Byron III and now that we know what we know," the white-haired woman told them, nodding, "she may have been off her rocker but not necessarily wrong about being his mother."

Jo, sensing Henry's discomfort, spoke on his behalf. "You believe or have proof that she was Byron III's biological mother?"

"Not only do I believe it," she replied, "but I have proof. On the last page of the album you're holding."

Jo frowned and turned to the last page. There she found two tufts of hair encased in plastic and pressed flat against the album's back cover. Underneath them were labels indicating one was taken from Nora on her deathbed and the other from Byron III while on his deathbed. An astonished Jo passed the album to each of her equally astonished companions.

"Nora had left instructions for her other son, Albert, to deliver half of her tuft to Byron III's widow, Genevieve. The story goes that he gave the entire thing to her, he'd been so put out with his mother most of his life. He felt neglected, pushed aside because of her ongoing obsession with two people who were no longer in her life. Poor thing." Aunt Merry shook her head and sipped from her cup. "But I understand that DNA can be derived from those hairs," Aunt Merry stated.

"I'm ... just astonished that you have these at all," Henry told her. He hadn't been aware that Nora had done anything like that. "Why did he leave a tuft of his hair?" he asked.

"According to family lore, he intended for Nora to have it. Apparently, over the years, he had begun to believe her claim of being his mother and wanted it fashioned into a keepsake for her but ... " her voice trailed off.

"But his survivors didn't share his belief or his enthusiasm," Henry finished her thought for her.

"Oh, quite the contrary," Aunt Merry responded. "It was his widow, Genevieve, who simply didn't want anything to do with Nora after all that bad business of her shooting and killing that young nurse in the hospital ... her going to prison ... " She shook her head. "And Genevieve lived just a few months after her husband passed. It surprises me that she hadn't destroyed those hairs before that. But, luckily, they were passed down from generation to generation until they wound up in my hands. So, as keeper of this dubious bit of family treasure, I pass them on to you, young Merry." A broadly smiling Merry took possession of the album containing the tufts of hair and gushed thanks to her aunt.

"Do with them what you will to obtain whatever it is that you need in order to prove or disprove poor old Nora's claim and Byron III's belief that he was actually born Henry Morgan II."

"By the by," she began. "I was a British Army nurse during the Second World War."

"Were you now?" Henry asked, genuinely interested but hoping that their paths had never crossed during that time. "Thank you for your service," he remembered to say.

"Only did what was necessary to keep our country out of the hands of the Nazis," she replied. "I was a Major and Head Nurse over a bunch of scrawny, young women more interested in washing their lingerie and marrying one of those handsome doctors than doing their jobs properly! Except for a few, one of which was a very pretty one who caught the eye of one of those handsome doctors. The best looking one, if you ask me. Oh, the jealousy she dealt with from the unchosen ones once she and that doctor became a couple," she laughed.

"Abigail was her name. Can't recall her last name anymore but I'm sure he eventually made it Morgan. You remind me of him a great deal," she said, raising her teacup to Henry. "As a matter of fact ... if I didn't know any better ... I'd say that you and he were the same person since you look and sound so much alike." She took a sip of her tea and set the cup back down on the saucer she held. "But that would be incredible if it were true, now wouldn't it?" she asked with a chuckle. "I mean I'm living proof that a person can live an unnaturally long life but certainly not forever."

Neither of the foursome chose to reply, merely smiling and nodding as if in agreement with young Merry and her elderly aunt.

vvvv

Back at Merry's flat ...

Henry watched forlornly as Merry left to attend a rehearsal of her choir. She promised to return as soon as it ended so that they could discuss what to do with Nora's and Byron III's unusual keepsakes in the photo album gifted to her by her Great Aunt Merry earlier that day.

Huffing out a sigh, he reluctantly joined Jo, Abe, and Fawn in the living room. He laughed wryly at Abe's suggestion that they break into Merry's room and commandeer the photo album.

"Bad form, Abraham," he jokingly admonished him. "We wait for Merry to return and ... go from there."

"Okay, but in the meantime," Abe said, rising to his feet, "Fawn and I are going to catch some air." He explained his plans for them to visit some sights in London.

"I've always wanted to ride on the London Eye," Fawn told them. "Why don't you two join us?"

Abe, standing behind Fawn, shook his head vigorously at his parents, then plastered a huge, phony smile on his face just as Fawn turned to look back at him. Catching his drift, Henry coughed and politely begged off, stating that he and Jo had other plans but they all agreed to take a boat ride on the Thames before leaving for home.

Henry and Jo chose to take a walk and found themselves on The Strand. Henry recalled how different it had looked on his last visit in the mid-1950s. He and Abigail had returned from their delayed honeymoon that had included a ride on the famed Orient Express. They'd gone to retrieve Abe from her parents' home in Oxfordshire. But before they'd left to return to their home in New York, they had walked arm-in-arm along The Strand taking in the sights and enjoying being so much in love.

More than 60 years later, he marveled at how he was able to be walking arm-in-arm with another woman and be so much in love with her. Jo listened to him point out the many changes he observed as well as the landmarks that had remained the same throughout the centuries. She marveled at how much the modern shops and street activity reminded her of New York or any big city in America.

They came across four red Tardises lined up in a row near a Pizza Express restaurant. She jokingly declared that Dr. Who now had more than one to pick from and they laughed. Walking further up the street, they saw two Bobbies posing in front of a Cool Brittania store with a tourist while another tourist snapped their picture.

"Let's go inside," she urged Henry. "Get you some of those sexy, white shorts in the window."

"No, thank you," he chuckled, lowering his head and quickly steering her past the display.

She stopped in jaw-dropped delight when they approached the next storefront. "Starbucks," she whispered. "Oh, I gotta have a - " She abruptly stopped speaking when she spotted the store next to it. A magic shop.

"Oh, Henry, we have to go in here!" she happily exclaimed, dragging him into it despite his protests.

A half-grin tugging at his left cheek, he leaned closer to her and whispered, "But aren't I enough magic for you, my dear?"

Notes:

shops-and-restaurants/restaurants-a-z/oriel-grande-brasserie

"Unveil thy bosom, faithful tomb" Published in 315 hymnals

/text/unveil_thy_bosom_faithful_tomb

Helpful descriptions of an old lady found at

How-can-I-describe-an-extremely-old-woman-Ive-met-in-words

Information on the Coldstream Guards and Crimean War found at

wiki/Coldstream_Guards#History

Video of Walking on The Strand in London on a rainy day

watch?v=mQVsEuhk_a4

Slight reference to "Forever" TV show S01/E15 episode King of Columbus Circle


	7. Nora Morgan's Diary Ch 7 Oh Those Genes

After less than 15 minutes, Henry and a disappointed Jo stepped out of the magic shop. She turned around to look at the doorway and at it as if to punish it for having gotten her hopes up only to have them dashed.

"Sorry you didn't find what you were looking for, darling," Henry told her.

"Just a bunch of folding silk top hats, toy plastic witch hats, card trick kits," she grumbled. "What a waste of time!" She pulled him by the hand back toward the Starbucks next door, her smile finding her lips again. "C'mon, let's get something out of here to soothe my disappointment."

"An extra large, mocha-mocha choc-a-latte or something?" Henry jokingly asked as they walked inside.

"With whipped cream and caramel on top," she chuckled, both eyebrows raised. "You know what revs my motor."

"Indeed I do," he replied, narrowing his eyes with a sly smile.

vvvv

They walked back to Merry's flat just as she arrived. She got out of her car and they all walked in together. Twenty minutes later, Abe and Fawn returned to find his parents and Merry in deep discussion about the tufts of hair and the best way in which to attempt DNA extraction from them.

"Looks like we're just in time," Abe said as he and Fawn joined them in the living room.

"Yes, Abraham," Henry replied. "I was just examining these hair samples and we are in luck! There are several hair follicles still attached." His grin was spread across his face, his eyes sparkled with fascination, and the excitement was evident in his voice.

"We cannot extract DNA from hair because it is made of pure protein (keratin), not cells with nuclei where the DNA resides. But we can get DNA from dead cells. If a hair is ripped from the root and the follicle cells are carried along too, as some of these were, then DNA can be extracted." Henry grinned after delivering his high-pitched, choppy-worded explanation with his all-too familiar hand gesturings.

"Okay, I know I'm jumping ahead here," Merry started, "but say the tests prove that they were mother and child; you'd still need to match his Y Chromosome to someone in order to prove that Byron III was either a Morgan or a Halvern."

"Yes, that's true," Jo quietly replied. She did her best to remain calm and look directly at Merry but out of the corner of her eye, she saw Henry's enthusiasm deflate a bit. It was just a flinch but she knew he was bracing himself for Merry's next remarks.

"No offense, Abe," Merry began, "but I think it would be best if Byron's Y chromosome could be matched to you, Henry."

Henry was willing to submit to testing but concerned that the results would show him and Byron as father and son. Something he, of course, desperately wished to find out but was it worth revealing his condition? Before he could reply, Abe ran shotgun for him, suggesting another candidate.

"Maybe we could ask Cynthia's brother, Henry, to provide the sample," he proposed. "He's descended from William, the other son of Robert and Martha.

Merry frowned at Henry and asked, "Who do you descend from again?"

Henry gulped before replying. "Well, it's true that I am in that direct line from, ah, Robert." He didn't yet want to say just how direct a line it was, though. "Cynthia's brother might be the better candidate. I have certain ... reservations about putting my DNA out there."

"Oh, it won't be," Merry told him. "It will just be for the purposes of this testing. I promise. Besides," she added more quietly, "I don't think those two like me."

"Why do you say that, dear?" Fawn asked. She didn't know the two people they were discussing but she had heard only good things about them and she instinctively reacted as a mother would at the sight of Merry's quiet distress.

"Because ... " Merry stood up and waved her arms up, then placed her spread fingers on either side of her forehead, closing her eyes. She lowered her arms and opened her eyes to them again. "I wierded them out a few years ago when I tried to share my theories with them about Byron III really being Henry II." She sighed and sat back down, pursing her lips. "They probably think I'm 'round the bend."

"Oh, I'm sure they don't," Henry attempted to assure her. "It was probably a bad time for them what with how ill he was back then and all."

"Yes," Jo said. "Maybe we could run interference for you and I'm sure that after they hear the whole story - "

"They'll understand that you're not ... 'round the bend." Henry grinned and they all laughed softly but he continued. "As a matter of fact, let me call them now."

Merry directed him and Jo to the landline phone on the side table next to the sofa. "I'm aware that I am so 2-thousand-late having one of these but I'm a young person with an old soul, Corey says," she chortled.

They all returned her self-deprecating grin but exchanged a quick, knowing look with each other for if there was ever a young person with an old soul in the room, it was Henry. Jo pulled out her cell phone and read off the number to him as he dialed.

"While you're doing that," Merry said as she rose from her seat, "I'll check on the dinner reservations I made at one of my favorite places, The Lounge Bar in the Strand Palace Hotel. International cuisine," she told them over her shoulder as she picked up her cell phone charging on the entry table.

Henry nodded to her while the phone at the other end rang. An unfamiliar voice answered on the third ring, announcing that he'd reached Trillingham Manor. Henry requested to speak first to his namesake but was told that he and his sister, Cynthia, were not home. He then asked to speak to Steadham and was told to wait. After several moments, his familiar voice was heard.

"Steadham! Hello. This is Dr. Henry Morgan from New York," Henry excitedly greeted him.

 _"So good to hear from you, Doctor. How've you been?"_

They exchanged more pleasantries and Henry explained the reason for his call. "Do you have any idea when they will return?"

 _"Not for another several weeks, I'm afraid. They're part of a group on retreat at a monastery in Nepal_. _"_

Disappointed, Henry replied, "I, ah, had no idea that they were Buddhists."

 _"They're not!"_ Steadham frustratedly replied. _"They're simply foolish, if you ask me. Galavanting around the globe, abandoning real responsibilities, family, and friends including your young friend, Lucius."_

"Um ... you mean Lucas?" Henry asked.

 _"My apologies for speaking his name incorrectly. However, I'll wager you that I came closer to it than Cynthia can anymore."_

"That's ... rather disquieting news," Henry replied. Poor Lucas, he thought. Just when he and Cynthia had seemed to be getting on so well.

 _"It's a parent's duty, it seems, to worry about their children - disapprove of some of the situations they get themselves into - no matter how old they get. But it wasn't my intention to burden you with any of this."_

"No need to apologize," Henry assured him. He stole a glance over his shoulder at his son, Abe, and his fiancee, Fawn. "I understand perfectly." Henry thought for a moment before explaining the full scope of the problem to Steadham.

 _"I see. Well. I would be more than happy to help,"_ Steadham replied. _"I will send a car for you."_

Henry thanked him and hung up, schooling his features to hide the lie he was about to tell the others and Merry. Well, mainly Merry, who knew nothing about his condition. A concerned Jo shadowed him as they returned to their seats. Merry rejoined them with news that their reservations were secure for 8:30 that evening.

"Um, will your cousin be able to help us by providing a sample for DNA testing?" she asked Henry.

"It, ah, does appear so, yes," he cheerily replied. He's sending a car for Jo and me so that we can, ah, obtain it and bring it back."

Steadham understood Henry's dilemma. Even though he wished desperately to provide a sample and find out for sure if he was Byron III's father, it would raise unfathomable questions as to why the results would show the two of them as father and son. He would have no credible answers for anyone if that were to happen. Steadham saved the day when he told Henry that prior to leaving in a rush for the airport that morning, Cousin Henry had cut himself shaving and bled profusely on the bathroom sink and floor before staunching it.

vvvv

 _"He was in too much of a hurry to let anyone know that his hurry of a cleanup needed more thorough attention. There is a considerable amount of blood and bloodied tissues up there in his master bath. Ordinarily, it would upset me that the mess was left for us but turns out it's a boon for us,"_ Steadham had said, some of his good humor returning. _"Shant be more than 20 minutes before the car arrives."_

vvvv

"Great!" Merry exclaimed, beaming happily. "It should be from you, though, Henry. You came all this way from the states to have this happen." She checked the time on her cell phone and stood up again. "Should we wait for you to return before heading out for dinner?"

"No, that won't be necessary," Henry replied. "We'll meet you there as soon as we can."

vvvv

Later on that same evening in the bedroom allotted to Jo and Henry, they lay in bed silently assessing the events of the day and what lay ahead for them in their quest to uncover the identities of Byron III's biological parents. They were both amazed at the thought of even attempting it because of the immense timespan between his birth and their discovery of his existence. During dinner, it had been discussed and decided that the testing would be entrusted to a clinic in London and Merry would call the next morning to either obtain a testing kit or book an appointment.

"Nervous?" Jo asked Henry. Her quiet voice broke into the silence of the darkened room.

"Oddly ... yes," Henry replied. "And a little bit excited." He paused for a moment and added, "A lot excited."

"I know I can't wait," Jo admitted. "And I'm not even the mother."

"You would be the long lost stepmother," Henry chuckled. "Oh, the impossible situations and relationships that arise because of my condition."

"Have you given any thought as to what you'll do after ... ?"

"After the results are in one way or the other?" Henry finished for her. She nodded. He took in a deep breath and released it. "Truthfully speaking, I hadn't given it much thought but I suppose ... if things weigh in my favor, I'll enlist Abe's help to track his descendants. At least I'll know the extent of my resultant lineage." A huge grin spread over his face. "My lineage. Oh, ha, ha, ha. What a remarkable thing to consider!"

"And what if things don't weigh in your favor, hon?" she asked.

"Then we've ... we've had quite another adventure, haven't we?" he replied haltingly. "But honestly? I'm sure it will yield a positive result," he said with more confidence.

Jo smiled and turned over onto her side to look at him as he lay on his back with his hands under his head. "Okay, that's settled. Now. About Abe."

Henry frowned, surprised and confused at the abrupt change of subject. "What about Abe?"

"Henry ... he _is_ a grown man capable of making his own decisions," she pointed out. "The right decisions if given a chance."

"Of course, he is." He turned onto his side to face her. "Is this about Fawn and him not sharing a room here?"

"Not just that, Henry. I know you're his father and you raised him and all but - you've got to learn to let go. He'll be just fine, you raised him right. But it's time to just trust him and stop trying to ... " She closed her eyes and shook her head, chuckling softly. "Can't believe I'm referring to him as if he was a teenager."

Henry was far from amused. "Stop trying to do what?"

"Now, don't get upset," she told him, stroking his cheek. "But it seems sometimes that you try too hard to remind him that you're the elder in the relationship. That the older ... looking he gets, the more ... threatened you feel."

"Threatened? Why would you think that I feel threatened?" he demanded, remembering to keep his voice low so as not to disturb the others who were probably sleeping by now.

"As if he'll forget who you are. Forget to show you the proper respect as he grows older and you stay looking like this." Henry began to shake his head in protest but Jo continued. "I know you have strong beliefs and high ideals about certain things - many things - but believe me, you don't always have to press them upon him as if he doesn't know how to make the right decisions himself."

"You're accusing me of being an overbearing parent," he stated, frowning slightly.

"My mother has often told me that one of the hardest parts of being a parent is knowing when to let go. When to back off and let your kids make their own decisions, right or wrong. And let them deal with the consequences, good or bad."

"I certainly do that," Henry replied defensively. "At least I try," he backpedaled a bit. He pursed his lips, blinking his eyes rapidly, upset with himself. "The rooms ... I overstepped, didn't I?"

"It's just that I think if you had left it up to Abe, he may have requested the switch to two rooms himself."

"And if he hadn't?"

"Not the end of the world, honey," she gently assured him, nestling in closer to him. "Mama says that all we can do as parents is raise them the best we can. Once they become adults, _advise_ them the best we can - _if_ they seek our advice. And ... "

" ... and what?"

"Trust them to do the right thing. Themselves," she emphasized. "Abe will never forget your place in his life, honey. You're _impossible_ to forget!" she chuckled, prompting a chuckle from him. "Abe will always love you. Forever."

"I suppose that I ... hold onto that position in his life a little too tightly at times," Henry quietly admitted. "Tighter and tighter as time goes by. Wanting too much to hold onto the present as if to ward off the inevitable." He paused, clearing his throat. "People leave this earth and go off to another plane of existence. 'See you on the other side', they say. Well, that is not possible for me. At least not yet. Maybe some day. But for now ... my only option is to hold fast to those I love; keep them close. And let them know that I will always love _them_. Forever."

"Wow," Jo said. "This discussion got deep. A lot deeper than I bargained for but, but good. It's good ... " she paused to take in a breath. "Good for these things to come out." She climbed on top of him, smiling. "But I think the time for discussion is over," she whispered into his ear and kissed him. "There are ... other things we need to take care of that require no discussion at all."

"Oh, please, let's take care of those ... things ... right now," he breathed out to her, grinning and clutching her closer.

vvvv

The next morning ...

"Fee is £99," Merry told the group during breakfast. "Results come back in less than a week, their web site says."

"We'll be headed back home before then," Abe realized.

"Unless ... " Merry began, smiling smugly.

"Yesss ... ?" Henry teasingly asked.

"Well, I happen to know someone who works there and I'm sure he'd be willing to ... personally service us a little sooner," Merry explained. "It's a good thing that Corey hasn't returned from his business trip yet. He's jealous of him."

"Another admirer?" Fawn playfully asked, glancing quickly at Abe sitting next to her.

"Just ... a guy I dated a couple of times before I met Corey," Merry replied, hunching one shoulder quickly up and down. "Corey thinks I still have the hots for him but I don't." She picked at the remainder of her food on her plate and set her fork down. "Anyway, we can meet with him this morning."

The group finished breakfast and Abe and Fawn stayed behind, volunteering for kitchen clean up while the other three headed out to the DNA testing lab on Jenson Avenue. Merry drove them to a red and blue three-story building of newer construction. She then led them inside to a second-story lab. But instead of stopping at the workstation of one of the technicians, they proceeded on toward a glass-enclosed office at the back of the lab, similar to that of Henry's. A white-smocked, prematurely grey-haired young man of East Indian descent walked out of the office and up to them as if expecting them. He met them with a smile and a handshake as Merry introduced him as the director of the facility, Dr. Loy Ferreira.

"Ms. Colton has explained the situation to me," he told them in a refined British accent that belied his ethnic heritage. "Although highly irregular, I've agreed to expedite your request." He then led them over to a nearby workstation and introduced them to a technician named Lars.

"Lars, will take care of you," Ferreira said. He nodded, telling them that he'd be in his office if needed. His gaze lingered a little longer on Merry, who smiled her thanks to him before he left.

Jo and Henry exchanged an uncomfortable but knowing look as they realized that Lars was trying a little too hard to appear concentrated upon placing items in certain positions on his workstation. It reminded them of Lucas whenever he tried to appear as though he wasn't paying attention to the private conversations or actions of others. Especially those between couples he "shipped" like themselves.

"Seems like a nice enough fellow," Henry said. Merry merely nodded.

Lars cleared his throat and began explaining each step of collecting samples and processing them through the PCR (polymerase chain reaction). Although very familiar with the process, Henry listened intently because he'd actually never seen it done and that their lab back in New York did not have this type of obviously advanced equipment.

Lars took the blood sample and the follicled hair tufts from Merry.

"Who provided the blood sample?" Lars asked.

Henry coughed and cleared his throat. "It's mine. Is it enough?" Merry frowned slightly but said nothing.

"Oh, yes, no problem," Lars replied. "Just a bit of a mess. From a shaving cut?"

"Ah, exactly that," Henry replied. He grimaced at the half truth, aware that Lars believed the blood was his own, but he couldn't help but silently hurry Lars along.

They watched him begin to prepare the samples for placement into the thermal cycler, a device which holds a block of tubes containing PCR mixture. He further explained that the thermal cycler raises or lowers the temperature of the block in pre-programmed steps.

"This separates and then amplifies the DNA," he told them.

"Which creates many copies of the strand," Henry interjected, unable to hide his fascination. "Even small or degraded samples can be analyzed using this method. But it appears that the equipment here is a bit more advanced than the one used back in our lab."

"You seem to be pretty knowledgeable," Lars noted. "Yes, these are cutting edge machines developed in, where else?, Japan. However, then the DNA still needs to be tested." He paused with an apologetic smile on his face. "Sorry, I, I can't really function with people staring at me like this. Could you go over there ... somewhere? Somewhere else until I'm finished?" he asked.

"Um, we'll wait in Dr. Ferreira's office," Jo told him.

Merry took off to the restroom, leaving Henry and Jo to wait in Ferreira's office without her. They didn't have to wait long, however. Lars notified them not less than ten minutes later that the results were in. Astonished, they filed out of the office and stood around Lars as the results were displayed on a large monitor next to the cycler.

"Those two mini scalps were definitely mother and child," Lars jokingly announced. Ignoring their looks of annoyance, he continued. "You see, parents and children share the most centimorgans. The only relationship that has a fairly definite amount of DNA shared is that between a parent and child. Since a child inherits 50% of their DNA from a parent - "

"Close down the lecture, Lars," Dr. Ferreira's tired voice warned him as he approached. "Results," he gently demanded.

"Yeah. Sorry," Lars told them. "Whoever these hair samples came from, this one (he pointed to Nora's) is or was the mother of this one (he pointed to Byron III's)."

"There's no doubt?" Henry whispered his question.

"None," Lars stated confidently. "Now, the blood sample and the, uh," he paused to chuckle, "little bush here - "

"Lars," Ferreira warned him again.

" - are definitely related," he loudly continued. "But the generational distance has, how you say, watered down the DNA. "But," he said even louder before anyone could respond or question him, "the Y Chromosome is a definite match. Easy to pick out because of the abnormality of it. Much like the one that was passed down in the direct male line from your President Thomas Jefferson. But there's something else."

"Something else?" Henry asked.

"Some genetic markers have been identified that allow people to live longer lives. Those people who hit the century mark and more. But look here." He pointed to the screen that now showed a side-by-side comparison of the markers in question from the two male subjects, Henry and Byron III. "It's like these two guys have them but ... they're not ... " he paused, searching for the right words. "Like they're not - "

"Like they're not active," Henry quietly finished for him. Had he been born this way with these genetic markers that were woken up only after his first death? Did the bullet enter his body in just the right spot at just the right time with just the right set of circumstances ... ? He successfully maintained his composure although not without a struggle. Perhaps he now had stumbled upon an answer for his "Cousin" Henry as to how his miraculous healing had come about two years ago. And even though he was now certain that Byron III was really his son, Henry II, this new knowledge brought up more unanswered questions about his condition. One thing he did know, though: he had to see his own for himself.

"This has been most informative," he told them with a misty-eyed smile. "Most informative. Thank you all very much." He shook hands with Lars and Dr. Ferreira and noticed for the first time that Merry had returned. She stood next to Jo, hardly able to contain her excitement.

"This means that I was right all these years! I'm a Morgan!" she gleefully exclaimed and hugged Henry, Jo, and Lars, and even Dr. Ferreira after a moment's hesitation. "Oh, I can't wait to share this with my other family members. And Abe," she told Henry. "Too bad he wasn't here to see this."

"Yes, well, let's, ah, go tell him the good news right now," he replied.

It was good news. Fantastic news! Pride, acceptance, and love for Henry II had been waiting in the wings for just the right moment to take their rightful places in his heart and mind. And take them, they did. Right alongside the fatherly pride and love he felt for his son, Abe. He felt so grateful for his lost son, now found. He was proud to have been his father and he knew that he would have been even prouder to have known him. In his long, Immortal life, he counted himself blessed that he had been able to fall madly in love with two remarkable women. And now he counted himself blessed to be the father of two remarkable young men. Jo wrapped her arms around his, bringing his awareness back to the moment.

Lars printed out a copy of the results, placing them in an envelope, and handed them to Merry. She hesitated a moment before handing the envelope to Henry. "For some reason," she told him, "I think you need this more than I do."

He clutched the envelope to his chest and smiled at her, unable to speak his thanks. They then left the lab and headed back to Merry's flat. Once there, they piled out of her van and walked inside. They were met by an excited and expectant Abe and Fawn.

"Hope you guys brought back good news," Abe said, glancing from one to the other, his raised hands clasped in front of him.

Henry put his hand on Abe's shoulder and replied, "You have no idea."

Notes:

Information about DNA and hair follicles; restaurants on The Strand in London; monasteries; DNA testing labs in London; DNA testing equipment and process; parent/child centimorgan sharing found on different sites on the Internet


	8. Nora Morgan's Diary Ch 8 Confirmation

_Merry hesitated a moment before handing the envelope to Henry that contained the printout of the DNA results. "For some reason, I think you need this more than I do."_

 _He clutched the envelope to his chest and smiled at her, thankful._

vvvv

After having excitedly shared the news with Abe and Fawn, that Byron III had been born Henry II and Nora matched as his mother, the group explored what they would do next. Merry gleefully declared again that she was a Morgan.

"Not that being a Halvern is a bad thing, mind you," she explained. "Just ... good to know the truth." She smiled broadly and heaved a deep breath in and out.

"Gonna change your name?" Abe asked.

She thought for a moment, then shook her head. "Haven't decided but ... probably not." Her smiled broadened again and she said, "I just wanted, needed to know." Her smile faded somewhat and she said, "Of course, Corey might not be so happy."

"Why not?" Henry asked, surprised. Not that it really mattered but he was curious to find out why.

Merry sighed and replied, "Because he found out that one of his ancestors killed a man in a fight in the 1940s. His great uncle - even though he was much bigger and taller than the other man - pulled out a knife and stabbed him. Coward."

Henry and Abe both cringed at the familiar-sounding story. Neither of them had told Jo all of the details but she assumed it must have been when Henry had died in Abigail's arms after a fight with her ex who had physically abused her. Fawn, however, hearing the story for the first time and taking note of her companions' reactions, rightfully concluded that the stabbing victim had been Henry.

"Corey's ashamed of it even though he had nothing to do with it and neither he nor I were even alive at the time!" Merry continued. "Happened a long time ago so I don't understand why it bothers him so much."

"I can totally understand how it feels to know that an ancestor harmed others," Henry quietly told her, thinking of his father's involvement in the slave trade. "Even though the events may have unfolded decades ago, one always wishes they never had. That everyone in our family had behaved in at least a manner to never have caused pain to others or brought shame or embarrassment upon us."

"I suppose," Merry replied, dismissively and shrugging. "I don't remember the two men's names, though. Corey can probably tell you when he returns this evening. _If_ he returns. But you, Henry, and Abe!" she exclaimed. "We're all really cousins!"

"And Cynthia and her brother, Henry," Jo reminded her.

"Yes," Merry replied, bugging her eyes under raised eyebrows. "Won't that make them happy." She turned to leave but Henry stopped her.

"Ah, Merry, there's ... something I wish to ask of you."

vvvv

Abe plopped his suitcase down on the bed in the room formerly occupied by his parents and put his fists on his hips, looking around. He turned slowly to his right to face his father.

"You know, you didn't have to do this. But thanks, anyway," Abe said.

"It makes me feel better about things," Henry replied, his head bent down slightly. The two smiled at each other and Henry began walking out of the room.

"Thank Jo for me, too," Abe told him. Moms always know how to get Dads to lighten up a bit on the kids, he laughingly told himself.

Henry paused, grinning over his shoulder at his son and nodded a couple of times before leaving to join Jo in their room, formerly occupied by Abe. He walked in and closed the door then laid down beside Jo already stretched out and drifting off to sleep. He leaned over and whispered in her ear a thanks from Abe. She smiled softly with her eyes still closed and her smile gradually faded. When he realized that she was now asleep, he cocked his head to the left, then the right, and then sighed, settling back down next to her. He put his arm around her waist and snuggled closer, kissing her on the cheek.

"Sleep tight, darling," he told her as he drifted off himself.

vvvv

Later on that evening ...

While her guests freshened up and readied themselves for dinner, Merry did the same while discussing the lab results with Corey. Walking back and forth between the bathroom, closet, and bedroom, she spoke excitedly into her headpiece.

"There's nothing to worry about, Core. I only mentioned the knife fight story to them. They didn't start plotting revenge against you! ... It was the best place to go for the testing ... Of course, Loy was there, he runs the damn place! ... No, you're not my fiancee and stop telling people that you are. In fact ... don't bother coming back here tonight if you're going to chew over that again! ... Alright, then. See you later. Bye."

She snatched her headpiece off and flung it in the direction of the bed but not caring where it landed. So what if it broke. There were plenty more in the stores. God! By now, she thought she would be married with the love of her life, settling down to have a home and children. Share her life with a very special person like ... like her new cousins, Henry and Jo. Abe and Fawn. If the old people could do it, why was it so hard for her?

And she simply couldn't understand Corey's fixation on that old matter of his relative killing someone wayyy back when. But things would all work out in the end, her Great Aunt Merry always said. Love conquers all. The young woman sincerely hoped so. Corey did mean a lot to her. Mmmm ... loved him, she guessed. She just wished that he would tell her his whole story, the entire reason he didn't seem as happy as she was in finding out that she definitely was a Morgan.

Her thoughts moved on to Great Aunt Merry. As her closest family member, she hopefully wondered if this new set of cousins, her guests, would fill that hole in her life once the grand dame passed on. She sincerely hoped so. They had a way of making her ... feel again. She had new hope for the future, excitement for the new day. Even renewed determination to finish writing and illustrating her unfinished books. Especially the one on her family history, now that she had the ending that she and others before her had searched for.

"C'mon, you old soul," she said, prodding at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. "Get yourself together. You have new purpose now." The corners of her mouth edged upward, her smile reaching her eyes.

Half an hour later, she emerged from her bedroom to find her guests already assembled in the living room. It felt so good to be accepted by them, to be a part of them, to belong. She found herself virtually bounding over to them. They happily greeted her and they all decided to take the cruise on the Thames River. Tomorrow they would leave her, headed back to the states. This was their last night together.

They boarded the cruise ship at the nearest hop-on point and laughed while Abe sang the first few lines of the theme from "Gilligan's Island" since it was also a three-hour cruise. Dinner was included so they enjoyed their meal while they enjoyed the passing sights such as the permanently-moored museum ship, HMS Belfast; London Bridge; and the Tower Bridge.

Henry pointed to the Tower of London. "Did I ever tell you about the time that I - ?" he was cut off by Jo, who lowered his hand and told him to leave the color commentary to the guide. She then pecked him on the lips while he rolled his eyes but obediently remained quiet. In truth, both she and Abe were worried that he might forget that Merry knew nothing about his little "stories" from his long past and he'd let drop a little too much information.

Jo whispered to him that his being "extra, extra careful" also meant (she swiped a finger across her tightly-closed lips). He dipped his head once deeply and gave his attention back to the changing scenery.

"Westminster Abbey," Fawn said as they cruised by. "Where's Winchester Cathedral?"

"That's only in a song, honey," Abe told her, winking at the others. She argued that it was real and that she wanted to see it.

"It's actually located in Winchester in Hampshire County," Henry happily told her.

Fawn playfully shoved Abe and said, "See? You just don't want to take me there."

"There's not enough time!" Abe told her, hunching his shoulders and spreading his arms. "We'll be wiped out at the end of this cruise and all I'll want to do is crash." Fawn playfully pouted at him until he closed his eyes, relenting. "Your wish is my command, me lady," he said, bowing slightly.

The dinner cruise ended a little over an hour later and it was close to 10:30 PM when they arrived back at Merry's flat. Luckily, the little bit of laundry had been taken care of earlier but their luggage was going to be just a little heavier because of the souvenirs they'd all bought. The most important accrued item, though, was the envelope containing the DNA results.

"How are we going to get your testing done, Henry?" Jo asked as they finally settled down into bed after all the packing was taken care of.

"That's the beauty of it," he replied, shifting his position to make room for her next to him. "Since blood samples taken from me used in the crime scene elimination process are still in the lab - "

" - because in cases such as homicides the evidence must be maintained until the sentence has been completely served in case of an appeal," Jo finished for him.

"Although not exactly evidence, those samples are still part of the case," he replied, smiling smugly. "We've put away quite a few criminals now serving time and my samples and test results are just sitting there waiting for further scrutiny."

"What, um, reason will you use in order to justify looking at them again?" Jo asked, considering the ramifications of unauthorized tampering with evidence.

"The Scarsdale case," he proposed. "Since it's an ongoing investigation, it wouldn't raise any eyebrows for me to look over all of the evidence again once we returned to work from the holidays."

"Right," Jo replied. "The suspect shot you in the arm and you bled all over the carpet in the same spot where the victim's blood was."

"It's perfect," he said.

In Abe's room, now next to the one Fawn occupied, he tugged at the adjoining door but it was locked. He started to slip a note under the door but thought better of it so he knocked softly instead.

"Fawn?" he called softly. "Fawn?" He knocked again. "Fawn? Honey? It's me, your little Pooh Bear." He waited with an expectant grin, leaning close to the door. To his delight, the door slowly opened and he stepped back, ready to bear hug his little -

"Wha- what are _you_ doing here?" Abe demanded when he saw an annoyed but slightly amused Corey standing in the doorway.

"Sorry to disappoint you - little Pooh Bear - but your Lady Love asked me to come in here and remove a dead mouse from the trap. Not one of my usual duties around here but anything to keep my Merry happy." He raised a plastic bag up and shook it. Abe could see the shadowy shape of a small animal with a long tail inside of it.

"Ew. Okay. I'll leave you to it, then," Abe said as he went back into his room.

"So you're now in the room next to mine, eh?" Fawn asked. She stood in the doorway of Abe's room and thanked Corey as he exited hers with the dead mouse.

"Eh, yeah," he replied. "The lovebirds (Henry and Jo) wanted a little more privacy, I guess. Speaking of which ... "

Fawn gasped, realizing his intentions. "Oh, now, Abe, we must behave ourselves while in the home of our gracious host." She clucked her tongue while wagging a finger at him and in a low whisper added, "We wouldn't want her and the others to think that we're some old dogs in heat!"

He followed her over to her doorway, his arms spread. "But we **are**!" She smiled at him and air-kissed him good night, closing the door.

"Great!" he grumbled. "Everyone wants to keep Abe on the straight and narrow." A smile eventually overtook his features and he shook his head, walking into his room. "But just wait until we get back home, my little chick-a-dee."

vvvv

The next morning would have been devoted to getting to the airport and boarding their flight. Would have. But all of them had their sleep disturbed around 4:00 in the morning. Henry hurriedly put his shirt and jeans on and slipped into his shoes before exiting the room and running toward the raised voices in the kitchen with Jo, Abe, and Fawn close behind him and hurriedly dressed as well. There, they found Merry clutching her robe and demanding a wobbly-legged Corey to leave. Henry got in between them and facing Corey, realized that he was drunk. He pushed him out of the kitchen toward the entry door.

"I just wanted to talk with her, make her understand," Corey whined as they reached the entry door. He raised his sweaty, drunken face up to meet Henry's. "You," he growled. "It's all your fault." He pushed Henry's hands off of him but Henry stood his ground.

"You're drunk, young man," he told him. "You need to go home and sleep it off. Things will look better after. We'll call a cab for you."

"No!" Corey loudly responded, straightening himself up. "Not until we get things ... settled first," he breathlessly replied in a raspy voice. Clearly, his drunken state was worsening, stealing his consciousness. Henry feared that he would lose his stomach contents all over Merry's clean, tiled floors, as well. He then clung to Henry and pleaded. "Please. Just ... let me explain ... please ... "

Henry nodded and with Abe's help, sat him in the nearest chair in the living room. While Fawn comforted a pinch-faced Merry, Henry asked Jo to put on a pot of coffee. Not happy with being relegated to "women's work" while a potentially violent person was in their midst, she eyed him with her hand on her gun. Henry almost imperceptibly shook his head and dipped it toward the kitchen. She grudgingly complied and left to brew the coffee but kept an attentive ear to what was going on in the living room. Ten minutes later, she and Fawn served coffee to Corey and the others.

"Now, what seems to be the problem here?" Henry asked Corey.

"Six years ago when I turned 18, I legally changed my name to Corey Watson." He swallowed nervously and looked briefly around at all of them, lingering on Merry, then dropping his eyes back down to his hands.

"And ... why did you do that?" Henry asked, working to keep his voice quiet in order to keep Corey calm.

Corey swallowed again before replying. "My birth name was ... " He paused, squirming in his seat and closing his eyes tightly as if in pain. "It was ... Haygood. John ... John Haygood."

The memory of the tall, overbearing man taunting, punching, and eventually knifing him to death, came back to him in sped up frames of black and white. Except for the bright red blood spilling from his guts where Haygood had stabbed him, and Abigail's sorrowful, tear-stained face hovering over him as she'd cradled him in her arms. His jaw clenched tightly and he leaned away from Corey as he tried to blink away the painful memory and concentrate on the conversation at hand. Well aware of his companions' eyes on him, he was also still keenly aware that Merry knew nothing about his condition or his connection to the man named Johnny Haygood back in 1945.

Corey grimaced and declared, "Except there's nothing good about that name. Nothing good at all!" He coughed several times and cleared his throat. Henry passed him a glass of water from Abe and he took a gulp. He wiped his mouth and continued.

"My family has a long history of ... " he paused, chuckling mirthlessly. "Violence. Murder, mayhem."

He went on to explain that the Johnny Haygood who'd knifed the Morgan man to death in 1945 was actually his great-grandfather, not his great uncle. He looked apologetically at a surprised Merry and continued.

"One of his sons, John, Jr., had been involved in a hit-and-run in 1967, permanently disabling a woman named Katherine Sturgent. Junior was my grandfather and he passed what must be a rotten gene down to my father, John III, who was a drunk. He's sitting in jail now after being convicted of manslaughter when I was 16."

"So you changed your name in an attempt to distance yourself from your family's troubling history," Henry said. "I say attempt because ... it didn't work, did it?"

Corey shook his head. "At first. Then I met Merry and ... everything was fine, great at first. Until she started talking about trying to find out if she and her family were really Morgans and not Halverns."

"I'm sorry for all of that, Core," Merry told him. "Why didn't you tell me before now? I wouldn't have held any of this against you. You had nothing to do with what they did."

"Don't you see? My father hit a man and with one blow, killed him. His own lawyer," he groaned. "A man named Kenneth Morgan. He hit him because he didn't like the sentence he got. So, as a result, he got an even longer sentence." Corey covered his face with his hands.

"That sounds ... just terrible, Corey, but - " Merry was cut off before she could finish.

"I'm cursed!" Corey agonized. He looked directly at Merry and said, "I didn't want you to find out who I really was. Haygoods simply don't seem to do well with Morgans!"

"But the woman disabled from the car accident was a Sturgent," Abe pointed out.

"She kept her married name after her divorce," Corey explained. "Her maiden name was Morgan."

"But - you and I always got along just fine," Merry told him, breaking away from the others and kneeling down in front of him. Henry rose to his feet and went to stand beside them.

"Even though I knew you were hiding something from me," Merry continued.

Henry and Jo exchanged a knowing look but returned their attention back to the young couple.

"We got along fine when you were someone else, a Halvern; and I was hiding behind Watson," he explained. "I was afraid that if you knew the truth about me, about my family ... you wouldn't want me anymore. I'm cursed!" he cried out again.

"You're not cursed," Henry told him matter-of-factly. And he couldn't believe he was telling this to someone else who was agonizing over their own secrets. "You're just a man. Beset with some most unfortunate coincidences in your family's history."

Corey shook his head, disagreeing. "You don't know what it's like. Finding the woman of your dreams. A most perfect woman. But all the while being a fraud, lying to her, hoping you'd never have to tell her the truth about yourself for fear of, of losing her." His voice had begun to tremble and he was losing the battle against sleep.

However, his words hit home with Henry. He steeled himself to look at Jo, an apology, regret, and gratitude in his gaze, unconditional acceptance in hers. Abe and Fawn eyed them and each other with some discomfort, knowing what they knew, but happy that they also knew the eventual, positive outcome for the Immortal husband and his new wife.

vvvv

"Are we going to be able to make our flight later on this morning?" Fawn asked Jo. They'd taken the coffee cups and saucers back into the kitchen and placed them in the dishwasher. Jo shrugged before replying that they should be.

"We'll just be super duper sleepy," she wryly replied.

They returned to the living room to find a calmer Corey and Merry, now sitting side by side on the sofa and holding hands, gazing into each other's eyes.

"Sorry to mess up your visit," a much-chagrined Corey told them all. "Glad I finally got all this off my chest, though." He smiled, blushing at Corey and said, "So I come from a family of worms, grubs and you still want me. And you're not afraid of me. Wow."

Merry laughed and shook her head. "No. Not afraid of you, and yes, you big mollusk, I still want you." Everyone else laughed with her.

Corey contained his laughter and took on a pensive look, frowning slightly. Merry asked him what was wrong and he replied, "It's just that we always knew what happened to Katherine and to Kenneth but ... things are kind of weird concerning the man my great-grandfather killed in 1945."

"What do you mean, Luv?" Merry asked.

"Well," Corey began, " for one thing, no one ever found his body. There was no police report made of a man killed or even injured. No hospital records were ever found to show that he had been treated anywhere. I know because I searched for them in order to find out where he was buried but ... no death or cemetery records. Nothing."

"How do you know he was a Morgan, then?" Merry asked, skeptical.

"Eyewitness accounts identified a woman who'd come looking for him; to stop the fight, I guess. She yelled out his name: Henry. Her name was Abby, probably short for Abigail. He must have died in her arms. That's the last thing my great-grandfather saw - her holding him - as he and the others ran away. He said that some of the others felt guilty leaving them there like that, tried to convince him to turn himself in but, of course, he didn't. He kept running away and three or four others ran back to help this Henry and Abby and they later said - " He paused as if searching for the right words.

"They said they saw a flash of brilliant, white light right before they turned the corner to reach the spot where they'd left them. But they only found Abby, shocked and confused. No Henry. No blood. When they asked her where he was and what happened to him, she just ran away from them. Total oddness."

"How do you know his last name was Morgan, though?" Henry asked, surprising himself that he'd even asked. But he wanted to know what Corey had uncovered about him and Abigail. Did he also know about Abraham?

"They were really the only ones who came up as a match for that time," Corey replied, much more relaxed than he had been earlier but sleepier. "Apparently, they had both served in the British Army as a doctor and nurse, respectively. A while later, they got married and adopted a little boy." Corey yawned and closed his eyes, his head resting on his chest.

"He's quite an eloquent drunk," Abe murmured to Fawn, who shushed him.

Merry watched Corey as he began to snore. Blinking and frowning, her gaze traveled from him to Henry but she said nothing. He and the others could see her working things out in her mind, though.

Running interference for her future father-in-law, Fawn said, "Well, it sounds like Henry didn't die after all in 1945, then." She instantly regretted saying it because, of course, he had died. Oh, dear, she told herself, she was going to have to learn to do this better or keep her big mouth shut.

Abe patted her hand, realizing what she was trying to do. "Eh, yeah, they probably did okay after that little skirmish." He instantly regretted his choice of words. Never did he mean to minimize any of his father's deaths.

Doing his best to ignore Merry's scrutinizing, thoughtful gaze, Henry advised that they all should try to get some sleep. "Perhaps we can reschedule our flight for a later time," he said. The others agreed and retired to their respective rooms for just that: sleep. Much-needed sleep.

Merry brought blankets and pillows out of her room for her and Corey and she curled up on the sofa next to him. She mulled over everything that Corey had said that morning, especially about his great-grandfather's supposed stabbing victim in 1945. Up until now, she had thought that the mysterious man who'd kept popping up at different times throughout the Morgan Chronicles saga was just a ratings grabber added in by the writers. Before she drifted off, she realized that there was a little more research to be done on one of her guests: Henry Morgan.

vvvv

As the foursome settled into their seats and the plane taxied onto the runway, the events of the past few days played over in each of their minds. The excitement of confirming that Henry had fathered a child with Nora and that Merry Colton was a descendant of his had given over to a deep, quiet sense of satisfaction. Mystery solved. Job well done.

"That was a nice thing you did for Merry," Jo told Henry as the plane left the ground.

"Enlisting Steadham's aid in order to get her and the other two world travelers together?" he asked, rhetorically, chuckling. "I think they would all do well knowing each other. Really knowing each other."

"Yeah," Jo said. "It would be nice to know that they were all friends."

"Well," Henry sighed, shifting in his seat. "I suppose that they will also bring her up to speed on their everlasting relative. Me." He tilted his head to the side, pushing his lips together. "That's Abe's nickname for me. Everlaster."

"You're ... okay with that?" Jo asked.

"Still getting used to ... sharing certain details about my life with others," he admitted. "But I feel that I can trust her as much as I do everyone else I've shared with in recent years."

Jo nodded, biting her lower lip. She was silent for a moment before lowering her voice and telling him, "There's a secret in my family, too." He raised his eyebrows and let her know that she had his full attention.

"Yeah, see, when the United States took possession of California and other Mexican lands in 1848, it was bound by a treaty."

"Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo to honor the legitimate land claims of Mexican citizens residing in those captured territories," Henry said, expounding on the information. He nodded for her to continue.

"So. The provincial records of the Spanish and Mexican governments in Monterey were acquired by American officials in order to investigate and confirm titles in California. But see, of the 813 grants ultimately claimed, the land commission only approved 553," she explained.

"And ... your family's land claim was not approved, I take it?" Henry asked. She nodded, pouting. "Well. Daunting task to take on but I'm up for it. By the way, which area of land had your family claimed?"

"It's in southern California," Jo replied.

"Where?" Henry asked.

"The part that is now Beverly Hills," she responded. "But I'll settle for just Rodeo Drive." Abe and Fawn could control their laughter no longer and her own laughter burst from her.

Henry closed his eyes and lowered his head, his laughter rumbling from him. "I take it that I have been had."

"She gotcha!" Abe laughingly exclaimed.

"I would have chosen Carmel," Fawn announced, dreamily. "All that ocean front property, those breathtaking views, those money-making BnB's and hotels." She nodded, still with a dreamy look on her face before bursting into more laughter.

Henry looked from one to the other of them and finally said, "I'm reminded of a line from a Bob Dylan song: "Clowns to the left of me, Jokers to the right ... "

vvvv

Back in the UK at Great Aunt Merry's home ...

Merry had just finished telling her Great Aunt Merry about her former guests and what they had discovered in the Dr. Ferreira's lab.

"I always knew it," the grand lady told her as she gently rocked in her chair near the hearth. "Just needed this new technology to hurry things along and confirm it all. Changing your name?" she asked Merry.

Merry shook her head. "No. But it's great to know and have proof of it." She was silent for a few moments, uncertain as to how to ask her next question.

"Come, child, what is it?" Aunt Merry asked.

"You always know when I'm hiding something," Merry told her, smiling. "Can you tell me all that you remember about that doctor and nurse who served with you in the Second World War?"

"Why would you want to know about them?" she countered with her own question. "Stands to reason that they're both dead by now."

Maybe not both of them, Merry thought to herself. Aunt Merry proceeded to tell her all she could recall about the military couple as Merry fingered a small, wrinkled note in her pocket. It was the note that Henry had written to Abe and which Abe had subsequently deposited in the waste basket in his first room. Merry had retrieved it from the dust bin, recalling that sometimes important clues could be obtained from someone else's trash. It was part of her self-taught history detective process.

Aunt Merry continued to recount her memories while certain words in the note played over in her mind: " _... your parents are now occupying this adjoining room. Although you may not appreciate it now, you will thank me for this later."_

Your _parents_. _Your_ _ **parents**_. The words echoed in her mind, leading her to make the most astounding but exciting conclusion in her life!

Notes:

Information on HMS Belfast and Winchester Cathedral; Thames River cruises; how long evidence is retained after a crime is solved; Mexican Land Grants; coffee brewing times found on the Internet.


	9. Nora Morgan's Diary Ch9 Steadham Rescues

_"Can you tell me all that you remember about that doctor and nurse who served with you in the Second World War?" young Merry asked._

 _"Why would you want to know about them?" her Great Aunt Merry countered. "They're both most likely dead by now."_

 _Maybe not both of them, young Merry thought._

vvvv

Merry kissed the grand old lady goodbye and left. While she motored away to her own home, she mulled over the information that had been imparted to her. She chuckled when she recalled Aunt Merry remarking that their new ME Cousin Henry had "caught" the old Dr. Henry Morgan's looks well. And why shouldn't he have? Merry thought to herself. Especially when he had never let them go. Those looks were original to him and had been for God only knows how long. How this was possible, she didn't know but she was determined to find out. Her cell phone rang just as she pulled up to her home and parked. Frowning slightly at the name on the Caller ID, she tentatively answered the call.

 _("Yes, Miss Colton," Steadham began, "I understand that you and my two charges, Henry and Cynthia, had a less than genial first meeting some time ago and it has created an undesirable situation between the three of you.")_

Merry laughed out loud. "Situation?" she asked. "They not only think I'm around the bend, they think I carved it out myself! They all but kicked me out of their home."

 _(Steadham cleared his throat and continued. "Indeed? Well, if you would allow me, I would like to help remedy that, uh, situation.")_

He went on to invite her to meet with them again when they returned later on that week and assured her that he would be present this time. When she told him that she would welcome such a meeting but doubted that they would, he did his best to put her fears to rest.

 _("Leave that to me," he told her. "I'll contact you when the all-clear is given.")_

Although encouraged by the fact that Steadham had agreed to be her intercessor with the former Lord Henry and his sister, Cynthia, uppermost in her mind at the moment was retrieving her laptop from her flat and getting to the genealogy section of the library with it. It being a Sunday, however, she knew that she had to wait until the next day, Monday. Armed with what Great Aunt Merry had willingly shared with her and what Corey had inadvertently shared the night before, the additional research into ME Cousin Henry should go a lot smoother, she hoped.

Cousin. Hmmm. Merry considered what her true relationship was to him. A multi-tiered wedding cake came to her mind with each of the lower tiers spanning out wider to accommodate each resulting generation. But instead of a bride and groom perched at the top, a common ancestor stood: Dr. Henry Morgan. And she wanted to confirm her suspicions before the meeting at Trillingham Manor later on that week.

vvvv

Back at Great Aunt Merry's house ...

The fire in the hearth warmed the bones of the grand old lady as she gently rocked in her favorite chair in her favorite spot and sipped tea. While she entertained thoughts of the latest visit with young Merry and with the small group of visitors the day before, the cup and saucer became unusually heavy so she lowered them to her lap. The maid entered the room and removed them from her lap then pointed out that she might be more comfortable in her bed. Aunt Merry agreed, realizing that sleep was quickly covering her like a warm, fuzzy blanket.

A soft smile crossed her lips at the recollection of young Merry's surprise and excitement over being made caretaker of not only the photo album with the two tufts of hair from Nora Perth Morgan and Byron Halvern III, but all of the photo albums and every bit of documentation on their family that she had managed to compile over the decades. Truths had been uncovered and the gauntlet had been passed.

Ohhh, but she was tired; sooo tired. The maid's voice sounded fainter and fainter to her and then the tiredness suddenly and gladly left her. The lady opened her eyes and was pleasantly surprised to be greeted by the smiling face of a young man she had never met but instinctively knew who he was.

"Byron? No - Henry." The young man nodded. "Henry Morgan II," she breathed out, astonished, as he nodded again and held out his hand to her. "What ... what are you doing here?"

"Thanks to young Merry, you, and all who tried before, we can now say that we're family. I'm here to escort you home, dear lady," he replied.

He wore the impeccable dress reserved for an upper class young gentleman in the mid-19th century as well as a unique version of his father's handsome features. His large, hazel eyes sparkled and his infectious grin drew out her own. Of course, now she knew that the man who'd visited her recently was actually his father. A man who had miraculously defied aging for two centuries and somehow she now knew that he would remain ageless for many more.

"Home? But I - ," Aunt Merry turned around and saw her aged self still in the chair but no longer rocking and no longer breathing. The many wrinkles in her face were smoothed out making her look so peaceful. It was apparent that she had thrown off her mortal coil and that she, too, had regained the strong, beautiful looks of her youth. She took the young man's outstretched hand and they were now no longer in the house. They ascended high above it into the clouds and headed toward a bright light. A magnificently bright light.

vvvv

The kitchen over Abe's Antiques one week later ...

Henry, Jo, and Abe had enjoyed a hearty English breakfast while discussing plans for all of them to return to work the next day. The news of Great Aunt Merry's passing saddened them although she had lived an exceptionally long and fulfilled life. They regretted not being able to attend her funeral the day before, though. They also awaited what they hoped would be good news from Steadham regarding the outcome of Merry meeting again with Cynthia and her brother, Henry.

But they each had plans of their own upon returning to work the next day. First on Abe's agenda was to contact a potential buyer for his father's credenza near the front of the shop.

"Don't worry, Pops. I found a good buyer. A responsible and appreciative one who'll take good care of it," Abe promised.

"Actually, it belonged to Nora's father, the old captain," Henry confessed. "Good. Good. Sell it." It was time to let go of it, he told himself. Even if the new owner used it for nothing more than kindling.

Jo announced that she would clear up the clutter on her desk. "Keep it nice and neat like yours," she told Henry.

"My turn. Okay. First thing is to retrieve the results of my blood samples in the Scarsdale case," Henry said.

The next day in the OCME, he did just that. With Lucas' help, he was able to compare a printout of his DNA sample to that of Henry II's.

"Hey," a surprised Lucas announced, "you're, you're a match with this other person as ... " he hunched over, peering closer at the documents then leaned back, confused. "As ... as their father." He scooted backward in his chair from his workstation and stood up to allow Henry and Jo to have a closer look.

"Are you sure?" Henry asked while he and Jo bent over the documented results lying side-by-side on Lucas' workstation.

"Uh, pretty sure," Lucas responded, pointing to certain areas on them. "Look here. You guys share the exact same Y-chromosome which is just one out of the 46 chromosomes a boy has. The boy has exactly 23 from his father (one of them being the Y), and 23 from his mother (one of them being the X). So it's pretty much a 50-50 split of the DNA from the parents."

Already knowing that Nora was a match for the mother, Henry smiled through unshed tears, his lips pursed in an effort to calm their trembling. An equally moved Jo squeezed his arm and they both straightened up but kept their eyes on the displayed results.

"Henry, you're a Dad ... again," Lucas stammered. "Who, uh, where, where's the baby?"

Henry and Jo chuckled, exchanging a knowing look. He then uncharacteristically flung his arms around Lucas in a tight bear hug catching the young man off guard.

"It's a long story, Lucas," Jo smilingly explained. She then patted Henry on the back to let him know it was time to release the young man. He released Lucas from his embrace and stepped away from him, slightly embarrassed and surprised at his own lack of self control.

"Yeah, that's what the Doc usually says," Lucas muttered in reply to Jo. "Y-you two are really becoming, uh, synced ... with each other," he loudly observed as Jo pulled Henry back into his office.

Still confused, he sat down in his chair but promptly bounced back up when Henry quickly came out of his office thanking him profusely and snatching up the two documents with a promise to explain further at a later time. He disappeared back into his office and closed the door. Through its glass-enclosed walls, Lucas could see an elated Henry and Jo hug and kiss each other. Lucas bent his head down and pecked on his keyboard to wake up his computer again all the while keeping the ME and his detective wife in his peripheral vision. Their apparent elation and excitement spilled over to him as he watched Henry make a call and bob his head deeply several times with the widest of grins on his face. He beamed with pride, the pride of a new father, as he obviously shared the good news with someone else on the phone. The call was ended after Jo received a call and said a few words to Henry. Henry exchanged his white lab coat for his suit coat and scarf then he and Jo quickly exited the office.

"A body?" Lucas asked as they hurried past him.

"Yes," Henry replied, adjusting his scarf as he moved to keep up with Jo but he stopped and turned to face Lucas. "Lucas, ah, I will happily explain to you the significance of the test results we just reviewed once we return. Fair enough?"

"Fair enough, Doc," Lucas replied, a slight grin on his face. It felt good to hold the ME's trust after learning of his secret of immortality. Now there was apparently another secret and he couldn't wait to be entrusted with its details, as well.

Moments earlier at Abe's Antiques ...

"Yee-hawww!" Abe shrieked in joy. "Ohhh, that's great, Henry ... Yeah, yeah ... Okay, go see about the dead body, I'll do my best to calm this one (himself) down ... Okay, bye." Abe hung up and shrieked again, arms raised victoriously with fisted hands. The test results had shown that Dad had been a Dad long before he or even Mom (Abigail) had ever been thought of. And with all of the descendants identified in Merry's online family tree, the bones of his anticipated research already existed. He wasn't sure who he was happier for; himself or Dad. Dad, he decided but his own happiness level was hitting in the 1,000 percentiles! After all, how many people living today could say that their brother was born two centuries ago?

vvvv

The rooftop terrace at Abe's Antiques later on that evening ...

"Well, Abraham," Henry began, "looks like the tree you compiled will require a bit more tweaking in order to be at its proper fullness."

"Eh, well, regarding that 'proper fullness'," he replied. "Probably best if we don't shoot for that."

Surprised, Henry asked, "Whatever do you mean, Abraham? I was clearly under the impression that you couldn't wait to add all of our new Morgan relatives to the tree," he reminded him before taking another sip of his after-dinner wine.

Abe failed to reply right away. Sensing the reason behind his hesitancy, Jo replied for him. "Maybe it's best to keep any and all trees - especially the ones online - the way they are. If anyone were to eventually put two and two together, at least the true identity of Byron III won't be revealed."

"And, in effect, protecting his/my descendants from unnecessary scrutiny," Henry finished after realizing the potential dangers of complete transparency with regard to their lineage. Jo and Abe nodded resignedly. "More hiding," he murmured to himself.

"But you got good news," Lucas reminded him. "You had a son way back when, Henry. That. Is. Awesome. And cause for celebration."

Henry reluctantly agreed with all of them. It was for the best not to broadcast Byron III's true parentage. And cause for celebration. "You're right, Lucas." He raised his wine glass to all of them and said, "To family ... and all the love therein." They all concurred and drank to the toast.

"Speaking of which," Henry started, "family, that is ... are you and Cynthia still in a good place, Lucas?"

Lucas, somewhat surprised that Henry would bring up his relationship with Cynthia at all, squirmed uncomfortably in his seat before replying. "We, we're good. Yeah. Still, still good. And I know that my hesitating response doesn't really invoke a lot of confidence in you but ... we're still friends."

"Friends?" Abe asked, eyebrows raised. "She kicked you to the friend zone?"

"Not, not exactly," he replied. "You see, she's ... rich and I'm, I'm - "

" - poor," Abe finished for him.

"I was gonna say that I'm a member of the working class but yeah, compared to her - poor," Lucas explained with a sigh. "She and her brother went to some monastery in Nepal for spiritual cleansing or something; wanted to pay for me to go with them but I, I ... couldn't let her do that."

"The male ego," Jo scoffed, rolling her eyes. "As long as you're not a gigilo or a 'kept man' why should it matter that she's got a bigger bank account than you do?"

Abe and Henry weighed in with their own reasons why they felt that ending the relationship because of the differences in their financial situations and social statuses might be a hasty decision. Lucas looked from one to the other frowning and nodding.

"Best thing for me to do is keep my job," Lucas began. His words, however, caused his three dinner hosts to eye him with growing dread and sympathy. They released laughs of relief at his next statement.

"Keep my job and - enjoy taking some of the coolest vacations with Cynth in some of the world's ritziest spots. So my bae has bling. I've dealt with worse," he mock-sighed and took another sip of his wine.

"And speaking of cool," Lucas said, changing the subject, "Merry's boyfriend, Corey, must be stoked hooking up with Macca." When he realized that neither Henry, Jo, nor Abe reacted as if they knew the significance of that, he threw his hands up briefly and rolled his eyes. "Macca? Really?"

"I know Mecca," Abe replied, frowning along with Henry and Jo.

"Macca is a popular nickname in the UK for Paul McCartney," Lucas explained. "Sir Paul. The former Beatle?"

He nodded slowly as realization finally swept over the faces of the others and a collective "Whoa" went up from them.

vvvv

Trillingham Manor ...

Merry sat nervously fiddling her fingers on her knees while Cousins Cynthia and Henry and Steadham studied copies of the DNA results of the two tufts of hair. The grandfather clock in the expansive entryway seemed to tick more loudly, filling up the silence while she waited for their acceptance or rejection of the results. Encouraged by the soft smiles spreading wider across their faces, Merry relaxed into her own smile.

She wasn't quite sure why their acceptance meant so much to her. Perhaps it was because of the years she had spent on her research and developing her theory. Confirmation was the best form of appreciation. And having no siblings any longer after her elder sister had died eight years ago from German measles, she hoped to forge a closeness with these two cousins to fill that void in her life. Especially now with Great Aunt Merry passed on and her other new Morgan cousins living so far away in the states. A pair of large but gentle hands on her arms, lifting her up to standing position shook her out of her thoughts.

"Welcome to the family," Cousin Henry (formerly Lord Henry) pleaded with her as he hugged her close. "Do forgive us for the abominable manner in which you were treated last you were here." He relaxed his embrace to lean back and look her in the face.

"It was all a misunderstanding as Uncle Reggie explained earlier," he told her. "You won't believe the uptick in the number of 'new' relatives popping up here at least once a week ever since The Morgan Chronicles aired."

He stepped aside to allow Cynthia and her to hug each other.

"Also, the timing was bad during your last visit," he further explained. "I was still in a bad way both physically and mentally and it was time for my ... meal of many medicines." His smile waned a bit as he added, "No one was ever allowed to see me while the nurse pumped all of that medicinal mess down my throat."

"Better times now, though," Cynthia assured her with a smile. "It will be so much fun to include you in our lives, Merry. And you're always welcome here. Always."

"Have you had dinner yet?" Cousin Henry asked Merry.

"Not yet," she replied.

"Then, stay and have dinner with us," he said with a broad grin. "We'll start with dessert and work our way back."

During the reverse dinner, they discussed the new revelations, their new cousins in America, and the TV miniseries, especially the mysterious doctor who seemed to pop up from time to time through the decades. When she asked their opinions about that, she noticed a subtle change in their demeanor. Although they assured her that it was all TV razzle dazzle for ratings, she believed otherwise but decided that this wasn't the time to share her theory about him with them. Perhaps never. Whether a Morgan or a Halvern, she could keep her new cousin's secret of having an incredibly long, un-aging life as good as they could. This secret couldn't even be shared with Corey no matter how much she loved him. He was such a blabber mouth.


	10. Nora Morgan's Diary Ch 10 My 4 Sons

May 2019 in the Morgan household above Abe's Antiques ...

Nora's letters - mostly bills from the scheming old Dr. Barton and from private detectives who'd falsely claimed to have tracked Henry to different parts of the world - had all been read. Her last few diary entries, however, were almost too painful for any of them to read. But they did read them. For some strange reason, they felt they owed it to the long dead woman. After all, she had unknowingly bared her life to them through her private thoughts; and most people never intend for anyone else to see the contents of their diary. Her last few entries had clearly manifested from the dark desolation she felt.

In the beginning of her incarceration, she was quite literate and her handwriting quite strong, But her increasing desperation had weakened her handwriting along with her spirit only a few months later.

 _July 8th, 1865_

 _"I have no friends anymore. None but my Henry. He visits me but I am too ashamed to face him. Even my son, Albert, refuses to see me. Ashamed of me, he is. Ashamed of myself for ending that young woman's life. How was I to know that she would care so much for my Henry that she would step in front of him and take the bullet meant for him? The bullet meant to kill him and prove to the world that he had conquered death. Instead, she, poor Anna Peyton, succumbed to death - at my hand._

 _In this most horrid twist of fate, my days are now numbered in this dank cell like the one my Henry had inhabited decades ago also at my hand. My Lord! So much to beg forgiveness for! So much wrong done to others by me. I was not born a cruel person, was not taught to be a cruel person and yet - and yet - others have suffered from my cruel obsessions."_

 _July 9th 1865_

 _"George Smythe, my solicitor, has sold my bed, carpets, knives, forks, and some little thing for £213 to pay for my legal costs for I am to be charged with Anna Peyton's murder. He states that he finds himself out of his depth. What am I to do? Has my estate dwindled so as to need to sell my belongings? Had Albert been raised with more attention, more loving, he would be here for me. If his brother were alive, he would help me._

 _I drink from the deepest well of shame now that tells me not to accept any more help from my Henry. Oh! My Henry. How absurd. He is mine only in my heart for he has long ago turned his heart away from me to young beauties like Anna. I suppose he always will in his long future._

 _If only things could be changed - corrected. So many things that have led me to this dark place of longings and regrets."_

"Okay, that's enough," Abe said, waving both hands as if warding off evil spirits. "Can't listen to any more of that. She's gone. Rest in peace, Nora," he said with finality.

"Or in whatever peace she could find," Henry murmured.

"It's like that for a few more entries til the last one the day before she was ... " Jo's quiet voice trailed off not wishing to say the obvious and neither Henry nor Abe wishing to hear it. She closed the diary and sighed, shaking her head and sniffling. "Such a pretty cover for such a sad book, Henry."

"Time for a change of subject," Abe announced, "to clear our minds a bit."

Jo laid the diary on the coffee table and rested her arms on top of her personal shelf (baby bump). "Not so quick," she told Abe. "Henry, you said that you never knew about your older brother's marriage."

"Sad to say but, that's correct," he replied.

"Aren't you even curious to find out who this Jane woman was that he married in secret?" she asked him. "And why?"

It had crossed his mind more than once but before he could reply, Abe interrupted with the news that he already knew. "Indeed?" Henry asked. "Well, who was she and why did they marry in secret?"

Abe chuckled. "She was the enemy." Satisfied that he had his parents' full attention, he continued. "Her real name was Jeanne. Jeanne Vernier."

"She was French," Henry gasped. "How in the world did he ... even have time to court a woman across enemy lines, let alone meet one?" he asked, chuckling.

"What would have happened if anyone had known about her?" Jo asked.

"My brother would have been charged with consorting with the enemy and both of them would have been hanged," Henry replied.

"No firing squad for him?" Abe asked. "Just curious," he said with a shrug.

"We were at war with France and Spain at the time they were married," Henry explained, "and ammunition couldn't have been spared for an execution."

"How did you find out?" Jo asked Abe.

"Trade secret," Abe jokingly but proudly replied. "Thinking of expanding my business enterprise. Abe's Antiques and Family Research."

"Seems that family research results in a story longer than mine," Henry joked.

"And it looks like that story is going to get even longer real quick," Jo told them. She then took in a deep breath as she stared straight ahead, her eyes getting wider and wider. Her hands rested on either side of her belly of seven months' roundness.

Abe jumped up from his chair and hurried to Jo's side. Henry turned to her and placed his hand on her belly in between her hands. "Are you sure, Jo? You're in labor?"

"It's, it's too soon, though," Abe stammered out worriedly.

"Pretty sure," she replied. "Ooo ... yeah ... yeah. That was definitely another contraction."

"Another?" Henry asked, startled. "Why didn't you say something earlier?"

"Well, this is my first child, Henry. I thought it was just gas."

"Let's get you to the hospital right away. Can you make it down the stairs?" Henry asked.

Jo shook her head and settled back on the settee. "No. No. Not gonna even try." She was afraid. It was only seven months, not nine. What had she done wrong? she asked herself. "Oh! This one is stronger."

Abe was on the phone with the 9-1-1 Operator explaining the emergency and urging them to hurry. The fact that his father was a doctor did little to calm his nerves. After all, Dad wasn't a pediatrician and it had been more than a century since he'd delivered a baby.

Henry urged Jo to stay calm even though she was and he was the one hyperventilating. They all breathed a sigh of relief when the paramedics arrived and expertly but gingerly brought Jo down the stairs on a gurney and into the ambulance. There wasn't enough room in the ambulance for Henry to ride with her so he and Abe followed in Abe's car, worried but excited at the same time. The baby was apparently disregarding everyone else's timetable and, unlike his centuries-old brother before him, was demanding to be known to the world.

Once they arrived at the hospital, the attending staff rushed Jo into the delivery room while she worked to remain calm and remember her Lamaze training. Henry, on the other hand, had no thoughts of that on his mind. Only the well-being of his wife and unborn child. He knew he was a mess and not much help but insisted on being in the delivery room with Jo.

vvvv

Nine hours later in the ER waiting room ...

Abe woke from a long nap to find his father seated next to him looking haggard and worried. He quickly straightened himself back up into a sitting position and put his arm around his father's shoulders. "What ... what's going on, Henry? How are Jo and the baby?"

Henry turned a weary face to him and replied, "Jo's fine. She, she's fine. Resting." He slowly stood up as if pained from each movement and nervously rubbed his palms on his pants. "The baby ... " He paused to take in a deep breath and release it.

Abe shot up from his seat. "What is it? Something wrong with the baby."

Henry nodded, attempting but failing a smile. He wanted to present a stronger front for his son. Didn't want him to worry. But he felt so wearied from worry even though his heart was pounding out of his chest. "The baby's fighting to stay alive but ... the doctors say that ... " At that point, he couldn't continue, his face crumpling into grief as he slowly lowered himself back down into the chair.

Abe sat back down next to him with his arm around his shoulders. He held the young-ish father close to him, rubbing his back and allowing him to release his tears onto his shoulder. "We ... gotta think that the little guy will pull through, Henry." Even in this dire time, he remembered to address his father with his given name in public.

"We gotta think positive," Abe urged him.

"He hasn't even cried, Abe," Henry lamented. "Hasn't uttered one sound. His, his lungs still ... undeveloped, the doctor says." Henry now sat up blinking back tears and wiping them from his face. "You're right. We, we must think positive." Sighing deeply, he rose from his seat once again. "I came out to let you know what was happening but I must get back to Jo now." When Abe didn't respond and appeared to be astonished by something, Henry asked him what was wrong.

"I'm not sure," Abe drew out.

His eyes narrowed then widened in wonder as he looked down the short hallway at the locked double doors leading to the delivery and recovery rooms. Henry followed his gaze and they both stared in wonder at two young men in 19th century period dress. One of them with hazel eyes bore a striking resemblance to Henry. Henry's breath caught in his throat for he knew, felt, who the young men were. He swallowed and took one step toward them when the hazel-eyed young man raised a hand indicating for him not to approach.

"You're ... my son," Henry whispered.

"Hello, father," Henry II greeted him, smiling.

As astonishing as it was, the Immortal knew it was true. Standing before him was his and Nora's son from long ago. "But how is this possible?" he asked.

Henry II merely smiled, shaking his head. "The important thing is that we are here." He looked to his left at his companion and back at Henry. "We're here to help."

Henry looked for the first time, really looked, at the other young man. Instantly, he knew who he was, as well. "You're Albert." The young man dipped his head and Henry could see a guarded hesitancy in his eyes. "I, I don't understand. The two of you are here to help? How?"

"Little Lorenzo is in distress and might not survive," Henry II replied simply. "He is in need of a boost to his life force and we have been granted special permission to do just that."

An elated and astonished Henry and Abe looked at each other then back at the two young men. "You're going to provide that special boost?" Henry asked.

"Actually, not I, Sir," Henry II replied. He dipped his head to the side toward his companion. "My friend here. You see ... father ... although I'm sure that you would have been an excellent father to me, rest assured that I did enjoy a good life being raised as a Halvern," Henry II explained. "On the other hand, my friend here - "

" - grew up rather lacking when it came to having a father figure," Albert finished for him. "Even though I now know that I am not your son ... I would be very much honored to be. That is ... it's a second chance for me, at least. If you will allow me to join my life force with that of Little Lorenzo ... "

"He can live," Henry whispered in wondrous realization.

Albert then smiled at Abe and said, "It would be smashing to have a big brother teach me how to play that, uh, jazz music on the piano."

"You got it, buddy," Abe told him, grinning. He nudged his father.

"Yes, yes! By all means, go. Go to him, please," Henry urged Albert, his unshed tears shaking his voice.

Albert grinned broadly and disappeared into the locked door.

"Did, did you see that?" an astounded Abe asked.

"Remarkable," Henry breathed out, smiling. The high-pitched wail of a newborn hit their ears from behind the locked doors. They looked at each other then turned to Henry II but he was nowhere to be seen. "Utterly remarkable," Henry repeated.

Abe pressed the buzzer on the side of the locked double doors and excitedly urged his father to "Go see your son, Henry!"

vvvv

During the months between their return from England and the birth of little Lorenzo Morgan, life for the Morgan family and their friends in New York resumed on a high note. Thankfully, the Immortal ME continued to be "extra careful" in order to keep down the stress level of his wife and mother of their infant son.

Abe and Fawn were spending more and more time together. His parents and her children and grandchildren felt that any day he would pop the question to her. Both of them felt the expectancy from their loved ones and friends concerning their relationship but didn't want to succumb to outside pressure just to please them. They both decided that when the time was right, they would both know it.

Lucas and Cynthia, on the other hand, spent as much time together as possible for a couple involved in a long-distance relationship. At their young ages, though, they felt they had more time than Abe and Fawn did and were content for now to enjoy their times together and let tomorrow take care of itself. And as much as he admired his very learned boss of the eternal bent, he was in no hurry to tie the knot with the lovely Cynthia even if that delayed him becoming an official member of the Morgan clan.

Cynthia's brother, the former "Lord" Henry, had slowly begun to realize that he was mistaken when he'd once told her that longtime friend, Betty Broussard, had never loved him but had merely pitied him all the years of his illness. But buoyed by the urgings of both his sister and Uncle Reggie, he had begun to re-think his views on that subject and to vigorously pursue a relationship with her. It was going to be an uphill climb, he knew, since she had given up on waiting for him many months ago and was now being courted by a wealthy, widowed Marquess. An older man in his late 40s as refined and monied as he was, and with a tad more dap in his debonair.

He was up for the challenge, though, to win back the heart of the lovely lady. However, after recently taking high tea with her, contrite, nervous, and with a set of highly-rehearsed pleas as part of his verbal arsenal of love, he happily and gratefully breathed a sigh of relief when she forgave him for his past rebuff of her, saying that she understood why. For that reason, she also suggested that they wipe the slate clean and meet halfway in their new "awareness" of each other. Okay, he told himself resignedly, not characterized as a relationship but ... promising. He was going to have to earn his way back in with her and he looked forward to it.

vvvv

"Okay, one last thing, Henry," Jo began after laying little Lorenzo down in his crib for the night. "Where are the portraits Cousins Henry and Cynthia brought to you?"

"Mmm, they're actually my - "

"Easier to call them Cousins instead of all that great-great grand stuff," Jo chuckled.

"You didn't torch 'em, did you, Pops?" Abe jokingly asked.

"Of course not, Abraham," Henry replied, frowning. "They're very valuable, irreplaceable, and - alright," he admitted with a sheepish grin. "They do have more than sentimental value for me."

"Well, where'd you stash 'em?" Abe asked.

"They're in our storage unit," Henry informed them. The same storage unit now cleared of most of the documentation and paper clues he'd compiled at one time after Abigail's disappearance. "In perfect condition."

There was a cry from the baby's room and Jo left to tend to him. Abe watched her disappear down the hall and into his room before asking his father if he had told her about their recent visitors from the other side.

"Yes, I did," Henry replied, smiling.

A surprised Abe bobbed his head up and down. "I'm impressed. No more secrets, eh, Pops?"

"No more secrets, Abraham," Henry concurred. "I don't want anything to mar this wonderful life with yet another most remarkable woman."

Notes:

Bones of Nora's last few diary entries while in prison in the mid to late 1860s inspired by the last desperate letters of 19th century mass-poisoner, Mary Ann Colton aka the Black Widow before she was hanged in 1873.

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Slight references to "Forever" TV show episodes

S01/E11 "The Ecstacy of Agony"

S01/E17 "Social Engineering"

S01/E19 "Punk Is Dead"

S01/E20 "Best Foot Forward"

S01/E21 "The Night in Question"


End file.
